


Escape From Ordos: How John Reese Returned From China

by mizwidget, Wanderer



Series: The Journal of John Reese—My Eyes Only [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Bisexuality, CIA, Canon Divergence, Circle Jerk, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s01e03 Mission Creep, Episode: s01e08 Foe, Episode: s01e15 Blue Code, Episode: s01e20 Matsya Nyaya, Episode: s01e21 Many Happy Returns, Episode: s02e12 Prisoner's Dilemma, Episode: s03e11 Lethe, Episode: s03e16 RAM, Episode: s04e14 Guilty, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Kwan Yin, M/M, Missing Scene, Photo-artwork by Wanderer, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Series, Reese chose to be raped by Stanton instead of being killed by her, Strong Language, Wanderer is our Beta, mention of gay sex in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 28,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizwidget/pseuds/mizwidget, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is what happened to me when I was trying to help Jessica.  </p><p>"This is how I had to die in order to live.  You need to understand that or the rest won't make sense."  —John Reese</p><p> </p><p>Stanton:  "Are you prepared to do terrible things?"<br/>Reese:  "Yes..."</p><p> </p><p>[Warning: There is explicit non-con or dub-con sex in some of the chapters, and I've identified that sort of content in each of those specific chapters with a note at the beginning, so you can skip that one if you want.  Please be aware ahead of time should the reader have an issue with triggers of this type.  Reese's strategy is to go along with Stanton's abuse and sexual assaults to save his life.]</p><p>We do not own these characters, or expect to receive any remuneration...The usual disclaimer...  In fact, if the POI Writers' Table wants to use these ideas, they are free to do so...</p><p>[The show timeline continuity is inconsistent.  I have chosen this particular timeline, because it seems to me to be the most realistic, based on what TPTB have shown us so far.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/gifts), [blacktop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktop/gifts), [Mamahub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamahub/gifts), [managerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/managerie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Dark After Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/424835) by [Wanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer). 
  * Inspired by [Summer Apples](https://archiveofourown.org/works/544197) by [Wanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer). 
  * Inspired by [The Sameen Shaw Handbook (1st Ed.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789951) by [DEM2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEM2/pseuds/DEM2), [digifreaks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digifreaks/pseuds/digifreaks), [grimorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimorie/pseuds/grimorie), [Hagar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar), [lookninjas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas), [offkilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/offkilter/pseuds/offkilter). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be sure to thank Wanderer for everything (artwork, time, words and encouragement) she shared with me during our process to write this speculative story of John's travel ordeal to return from China. 
> 
> She especially helped where John describes how and why he came to his conclusion that he needed therapy. I tried to think of alternative words, but hers are the best.

 

**Cover Art _by Wanderer_ **

**_* * * * * * * * * * * * *_ **

**Prologue: The Journal of John Reese **—** My Eyes Only**

When I woke up in that strange hotel room—a room I hadn't fallen asleep in—and heard those screams from the next room over, I totally panicked.  I had a monster headache.  My mouth was dry from some strong tranquilizer.  Jesus!  How did I get there?  My left arm was zip-tied to the headboard!  What the fuck was up with everything?!

And then, after cutting myself free with a shard of broken mirror and crashing through two hotel doors, only to find the same geeky-looking guy who offered me a job the day before.  He then said he knew all about Jessica's death.  He knew I was too late to save her—he was just calmly sitting there, waving some newspaper at me.  The same guy I thought was just a spoiled, rich dilettante—he was sitting there, blandly talking about the horrible, screaming death of the unknown woman that we were too late to save—a woman who wasn't there.  And how in hell did he know all about me?  Was he a part of Snow and Stanton's plan to clean up my "loose ends?"  My first thought was—did _he_ help murder Jess?

I scared myself.  After I almost crushed Finch's trachea, I realized that I was way too much on edge.  Later, it snapped into my head that I probably was dealing with PTSD, especially from all my years with Stanton and her abuse, Snow and all the wet work and "cleaning" I'd done for them and the CIA.  I'd never felt this way at the end of my tours with Delta Force.  I was so screwed.  I needed some real psychological help.

Soon after starting my work with Finch, since he was paying me more than I thought I needed, I decided to get some therapy.  I knew I could find and pay for the best therapist in New York.  I wanted to work with a psychiatrist, whom I could meet in secret, at unscheduled, spontaneous times.  Whenever I had the opportunity between Numbers.  Of course I didn't use my real name, none of the aliases Finch provided, or the name "John Reese."

So, at Dr. Harrington's recommendation, I started keeping this journal.

To know that at any time I could just break and hurt any of our Numbers, or worse, hurt Harold again—no way in hell did I want to repeat that.  I'd been trained to fight, to react violently; I needed some help to blunt those reflexes.  I knew they'd never leave me, but I had to learn to curb them, in order to work with Finch.  My past life with the CIA had got me so fucked up, that now I felt it was critical that I take the opportunity for any positive way to heal myself, to restore myself.

As I've been writing in my journal, I've discovered that this writing process is the key to my therapy.  I didn't even have to show Harrington what I wrote.  I just had to start writing.  After a few months, I noticed that my PTSD symptoms and the shit associated with them started to minimize.  I was getting to be a lot calmer, more centered.  I didn't overreact so quickly and violently to the unexpected.  My sex drive was starting to wake up; I started masturbating again.  I began to feel more comfortable in my own skin.  I noticed that Harold sensed that I'd become more confident and assured with him and the Numbers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 _Here is what happened to me during those months I was trying to get back to help Jessica._  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	2. December 3, 2010—Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words by which John Reese lives his life—Army Special Forces motto: "De Oppresso Liber" — "To Free the Oppressed."

**This is how I had to die, in order to live.  You need to understand that, or the rest won't make sense. **—** _John Reese_**

 

**December 3, 2010 **—** Day 1**

I trusted Snow as far as I could throw him, that fuckin' asshole.  I knew I was as good as finished, what with his bullshit promise, “You get this done, you can have all the leave you need.”  Yeah, right.  I'd been with the CIA long enough to know how to translate that phrase: “…all the leave you need...”  Uh-huh...  My head covered in a black bag... Dead! 

 

How did I get myself caught up in that CIA clusterfuck with Snow and Stanton?  Those Company douchebags would rather “retire” their co-workers just to make their lives simpler.  I traded Special Forces for that shit?!  The CIA and those dickheads who work for them still do not warrant any respect from me.

 

Then there's Stanton.  From the first time we met, I'd been on edge.  From my perspective, she'd behaved like she's her own insurgent **—** I could predict that she was going to be dangerous and unpredictable.  And she said that _I_  was disruptive?  After we first met as partners, and I watched her shoot those two guys without any of the SOP [Standard Operating Procedure] questioning or verification I'd come to expect while I was in Delta Force, I knew that it was up to me to watch out for myself.  No way could I trust her to "have my back!"  I felt as though I needed to wear my antiballistic vest all the time, no matter what bullshit comments she threw at me.  To justify wearing my vest most of the time, I ended up telling her that after all my tours with 1st SFOD-D [1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, aka _Delta Force_ ] in Iraq and Afghanistan, I felt naked without my tactical body armor.  That wearing the tactical vest was how I managed to survive so many tours.  After that, she backed off...a little.   She still said, "You Tier One boys are all the same.  Tense.  Tense gets us killed."

 

What a fuckin' asshole...

 

That time when we were in New York, working our illegal op, she told me about her experience when she tried to return to visit her family after her first assignment with SAD black ops [Special Activities Division—an elite division of the CIA's National Clandestine Service (NCS)] **—** she explained how she felt.  That she could _never_ go back to her relatives.  It was then that I realized that she had disconnected, untethered herself from any past relationships and values.  She was one insane bitch.  It was my guess that her long-term experience in self-alienation was how she so easily left her good side behind, if she ever _had_ any good side.  Looking back I see that she had sociopathic tendencies.  I take that back.  She was a sociopath.  She never felt the need to connect with anyone except for her own ends.  That was what she meant when she said, "We're not...walking in the dark.  We are the Dark."  It was easy for her to turn dark.  Darker than even that asshole, Snow.  

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st SFOD-D: 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, aka Delta Force. A component of Joint Special Operations Command. 
> 
> The CIA's SAD often works with, and recruits from, operators from Delta Force. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1st_Special_Forces_Operational_Detachment_-_Delta


	3. December 5, 2010—Day 3

**December 5, 2010 **—** Day 3**

We were flying via commercial air into Beijing.  Multiple connections across multiple continents.  Shit.  Good thing I managed to get a seat in the emergency exit row on that final leg, so I could at least stretch out and be a little more comfortable.  Those airline seats are spaced for much shorter people than my 6 foot 2.

 

When we arrived, somewhere along the line, Kara and I were supposed to meet up with some guys from the SOG [Special Operations Group **—** a department of the SAD].  They were to escort us to the Ordos site, where they were to help insert us.  I wondered if I’d see any of the men who used to be from my unit, 1st SFOD-Delta? 

 

I was trying to get some sleep on the plane.  But Stanton was in the next seat over, in a talkative mood, all plans and strategies.  I thought we'd talked all this out before we left Morocco.  I wished that she'd just shut the fuck up.  I was stressed out with worry, about when I'd be able to get to Jess Stateside.  That was the big contributing stress factor, that as well as my ongoing lack of shut-eye.

 

Talk about exhausted.  In my mind, I’d been going over and over what our contacts had told us.  I wanted to be sure I'd covered all of my options.  According to Corwin and the intel she shared with us during our briefing with Snow in Tétouan, there was some mysterious laptop Stanton and I were to retrieve from a ghost town in the god-fuckin'-forsaken middle of China.  Talk about _Bum-Fuck-Egypt_.  For me, Ordos was _worse_ than _BFE_...

 

Snow, that bastard.

 

What’s up with Snow when he ordered me to “retire” Stanton?  If she was compromised, she had been “compromised” a long time before I met her, because I saw no evidence for any opportunity that she could've compromised herself during the time we’d been working together.  All that time, as far as I could see, we'd been virtually joined at the hip.  

 

I felt trapped.  I was planning on returning ASAP to New York, so I could get to Jess.  Help her out.  That time in Morocco, when I'd returned her call, she sounded so different from when we'd been together.  We'd been so happy those six months.  Now, she sounded distraught and terrorized.  Jess's attitude had gone through a drastic change since I'd seen her last.

 

I wondered...

 

She was crying on the phone.  Shit.  She sounded really upset, and she wouldn’t or couldn’t talk during that last phone conversation.  I was worried…  Who was keeping her from talking freely?  We'd last seen each other in back in February, 2006, and that was over four years ago.  This time, when she called me while I was in Morocco, she sounded so desperate.  Christ.  She told me that I was right, that time in the airport when I told her that, "in the end we're all alone."  When I heard her say my words back to me, my blood ran cold.  I recoiled like someone had walked on my grave.

 

I remember meeting Jess's husband, Peter, in that New York bar back in 2008.  Maybe it was a good thing that Kara found me and talked me out of being "introduced" to his wife from Puyallup.  His wife—my Jess.  I would have really screwed up our clandestine New York op while we were in "enemy territory" if I'd stayed to see her.  That time, I was glad I listened to Stanton. 

 

Arndt seemed to be an OK guy on first meeting.  But did this "Peter" Jess ended up marrying turn out to be an abusive asshole?  I wondered what was going on with Jessica.

 

I told her I was coming to get her.  That I'd be there for her in twenty-four hours.  I asked her to wait for me.  God, I wished I'd said those words to her four years ago: "wait for me."  Back then, I'd really fucked up big time.  What if Peter, who I thought was going to be there for her, a man I assumed would be better for her, more deserving of her than I ever could be, what if he had turned out to be a complete bastard?  I could've been there, in 2006, been with her—married to her—right then and never let her go.

 

Christ!  I _had_ to get back to her.

 

What a shortsighted mistake I made back then at that airport.  It was like God had planned that Jess and I meet there unexpectedly.  It was a total fluke, seeing her then.  When she turned around and left me, she wasn't walking all that fast.  I should've followed her, chased after her, hugged her, kissed her and told her how much I love her.  Told her that I'd give up my new job, like I'd done before, when I'd left Delta Force—just before we went on that trip to Mexico.  That I'd do it for us, because it was easy enough for me to just walk away from the CIA right then.  That I'd take her challenge, step up to the plate, make a commitment, be unafraid and love her, be with her.  We'd be so much happier together now.

 

Oh, hell.

 

What was I thinking when I turned away from her?!  I have so many regrets.  I still feel sick inside at how everything had turned out for the two of us.  I've had this big hole in my gut ever since I saw her walk away. 

 

This hole inside of me that nothing but Jess will ever fill—not work, not booze, not anything. 

 

I fucked up royally when I chose to honor my CIA contract instead.  And then Snow forced me to go on that fucked up Ordos op.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	4. December 6, 2010—Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared: some non-con/dub-con sex happens in this chapter.
> 
> The Chinese Internet hijacking in April, 2010 actually transpired.  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/china/8142267/China-hijacks-15-per-cent-of-worlds-internet-traffic.html

**December 6, 2010 **—** Day 4**

There I was in Beijing, working the diplomatic thing.  Just after we arrived, Stanton and I were given additional intel beyond what Corwin had shared with us.  Sometime in November 2010, the DOD [Department of Defense] discovered that on April 8th, 2010, 15% of all global web transmissions, including those from the U.S., were rerouted by the Chinese. They used IP hijacking of Internet traffic to deviate the flow into and through China for about 18 minutes via the Chinese state-owned _China Telecom_.  Holy shit!  The Chinese were up to no good much earlier than we'd suspected.

 

Despite Snow’s suggestion that we gather more intel on the Ordos situation, there really wasn’t much more to find locally, no matter how much I poked around.  The Chinese government continued to be more than secretive about protecting their computers, computer manufacturing and computer networks.  I wondered then why we were given two weeks before actually heading to the Ordos site?

 

The local CIA group did their best to gather more intel for us.  They located a map of the compound where the laptop supposedly was located, but the architectural drawings were the originals for the actual construction of the building complex, and were about 10 years old.  As far as more recent information on the location of buildings in the present, no joy on that score.

 

Stanton was no help. She had her own agenda regarding what “intel” meant, as usual.  Thinking back to Snow’s orders to “retire” her, and reading between the lines, it seemed to me that the best intel for me to collect were maps of the country and the railway system, and it would be best for me to plan on my solitary self-extraction out of the country.  So it looked like I had to come up with my own strategy.  Shit.  Just to be on the safe side, I managed to locate a local source where I bought my own temporary "burn phone," to have as a back up.  No way I was going to power it up when I didn't need to.  I just kept it charged, turned off and stashed in the bottom of my backpack.

 

* * * * * * *

Of course Stanton wanted sex right after we landed.  Not just any sex—just her usual rough sex.  Christ, I hated being used as her personal tension release just so she can fuckin' relax.  Knowing her, it was a good thing I planned ahead, and stuffed some condoms into my pants pocket.  No sooner than we got to our hotel room and shut the door, she started to massage my crotch as she was taking off my shirt, then unzipping my pants, she's thinking that's the fastest way for me to get it up.  I somehow put the brakes on her frenzy.  Before she could get my pants down all the way, I grabbed two of the packets out of my pocket and held them between my teeth.  In the middle of all this action to get our clothes off, I pushed her against the wall and unzipped her pants.  I pulled her jeans down along with her thong underwear.  Then, I tore open the packet and unrolled a condom over my dick.  It was a race between us, to see who could get it in first.  Using the wall as leverage, I lifted her up and onto my cock.  I had her in a choke hold with my right arm across her throat.  It took me some quick thrusts to come.  That gave her the usual thrill.  She thought she'd made me come.  That just meant that I was going to have to sweat to make _her_ come **—** no mean feat. 

 

She'd pushed me to the bed as I was trying to recover, and she started to kiss me, working to get that second rise outta me.  I tried to retrieve more condoms, but she shoved me down on the bed with her arm, spouting her usual sarcastic comments.  “John, are you going back to being the boy scout again?  ‘Be prepared’ and all that other bullshit?  I thought after all this time we’ve spent together, you were finally beyond that, Lover.”  She said the last word with a sneer.

 

When I heard her call me "lover," my guts twisted inside.  I was about ready to hurl.  I knew I'd have to mechanically fuck her brains out, until I brought her to orgasm.

 

She wanted to unroll the condom on me with her mouth.  That just made me wanna outright puke.  I grabbed it from her and put it on myself.  Once Kara’d maneuvered us back to the bed where she wanted me, she’d taken my hand and put it between her legs.  Next thing, she’d rubbed her boobs on my chest, as well as used her hand to move my fingers to play with herself.  She ground herself up to some fever-pitch as she slid my cock into her, and finally came herself.  There was never any sweetness and light for this slut.

 

Yeah, Stanton.  Sure, she was my partner.  Yeah, I depended on her to back me up.  And then, that time in Paris, after I offed that couple in the bistro back in April, 2009...  She knew that I wouldn't—or was it more like didn't dare—refuse her?  I made that choice.  We ended up in bed.  That was how the sexual part of my employment started.  I chose to have sex with Stanton in order to survive my job with the CIA.

 

* * * * * * *

We were given more “hurry up and wait” shit—just like old times in the military for me.  And Corwin said that this assignment was “urgent” and "highest priority."  Christ!  What was I doing here, wasting time?  Jess was waiting for me!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	5. December 8, 2010—Day 6

**December 8, 2010 **—** Day 6**

I woke up in a dream.  

 

I was back in that sunny hotel room in Mexico with Jess.  She had just walked into the room, turned and closed the door.  She was wearing that pink dress that I like so much.  I was resting on the bed, trying to coax her to lie with me, to make love with me.  She somehow floated above me.  Drifting over me, her body shining with golden light pouring out, she smiled and said,  "John...  John!...  I have loved...  I will always love you."  She stretched her hand down to touch my face.  The last two words, "Love you...Love you...Love you..." echoed as she sank down to kiss me.  I reached out to hug her, but she passed right through me.  She disappeared as her body touched me.  I tried to catch her, to hold her, to keep her.  "Sweetheart! Come back?!"

 

I woke with a jerk.  I was in the same bed with Kara in the Beijing hotel room.  I glanced over to see if she was awake or not; I wasn't sure if I was talking in my sleep.  I might have said "Sweetheart" out loud.  Thank God, Stanton was still asleep.

 

In the early morning darkness, I rolled off the mattress and picked up my cell phone, my briefs and t-shirt from the floor.  Using the phone to light my way to the bathroom, I went in, locked the door and turned on the lights.  I was crying as I rested my palms against the bathroom sink and looked up at my face in the mirror.  I didn't want Stanton to know that I'd had this dream.  That I was weeping soundlessly.  Then, I saw the vision of Jess reflected in the mirror.  She was wearing that same pink dress that she wore in my dream, standing behind me, looking at me, smiling at me from over my left shoulder.  But as I stared at her, her image faded away.  "Please...  Come back..."  Seeing her dissolve made me cry even more.  I checked my phone—it was 0615 hours Beijing time.  I put my underwear and t-shirt on and sat on the toilet seat cover, still crying in my hands as I thought about Jess.  I wondered how she was doing.  I wished I was there, with her.  Anywhere but that Beijing hotel room.

* * * * * * *

Little did I know the magnitude, importance and meaning of this dream until much later.  Two months had elapsed by the time I'd arrived in New Rochelle and was hanging around Jessica's home.  [ _Jessica's death_ : estimated to be December 7, 2010—1815 hours, New Rochelle, NY—the International Date Line moved the time forward to the next day, December 8, 2010 and twelve hours ahead to 0615 Beijing time.]

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	6. December 16, 2010—Day 14

**December 16, 2010 **—** Day 14**

I spent the last few days before we were to leave for Ordos, wandering Beijing, checking my six [ _clocking_ : checking behind me, my "six o'clock"] to be sure I wasn't followed.  Somewhere in one of the neighborhoods, I found this park where people were doing tai chi or playing mahjongg, and some of the men were playing chess.  Although I'm not fluent enough to carry a conversation in Mandarin, I can understand enough.  One of the Chinese guys taught me how to play _XiangQi ** **—****_ their version of chess.  Some of the men practiced their English language skills with me as they taught me their game.  

 

While I was at the park, I learned that there was a substantial group of English-speaking dissidents. They were really careful about telling me this, and I felt lucky that they trusted me in such a short time.  In a roundabout way, I managed to discover how much the general population knew about their government's computer security.  It turned out that the government keeps its computer and Internet security by strict censorship, limiting Internet access, as well as through a large, well-organized Internet police force, much like an "Internet SWAT team."

 

These dissidents who befriended me invited me on a walking tour of their city, and along the way, we visited the Guanyin Guojie Temple Tower, which was reconstructed in 1997.  Most Westerners know this Buddhist goddess by the name "Kwan Yin."  She is the goddess of compassion and mercy.  They consider this shrine to be a very special, even though this temple wasn't an active site for worship when we visited.  Some of them mentioned that they were secret devotees to Her and that others in their group also practiced some of the old spiritual ways of China.

* * * * * * * 

Stanton and I were almost ready to travel west to Ordos.  It was too late as far as I was concerned!  Jess and her situation were always on my mind.  Still, with the telephone surveillance in China **—** by both the CIA and the Chinese **—** I didn't want to take the chance to call Jess on my burner phone and fuck up our op, fuck up my chances of helping her later on.

 

The local CIA section had arranged for us to be helo-ed [helicoptered] into a location near the Ordos facility.  There we'd meet up with an SOG team who were supposed to take us to the software engineering company site for us to search and retrieve the special laptop.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clocking: A clock position is the relative direction of an object described using the analogy of a 12-hour clock. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clock_position


	7. December 20, 2010—Day 18

**December 20, 2010 **—** Day 18**

 

The helo flight from Beijing into the Ordos area was uneventful, which was just fine by me.  We landed and were met by the Alpha SOG team, who drove us from Dongsheng to the engineering company's location.  Maybe it was a good thing I didn't recognize anyone from my old Delta Force unit.  Once we arrived on site, they walked us in; the SOG guys guided us to the entrance to the building complex, where we were to secure the laptop.

 

The SOG Team Leader told us, "This's where we're to part ways." He told us that Stanton and I were going in alone, that intel said we could expect only light if any resistance.  He said he had orders to confiscate any comm devices we had. 

 

I asked him, "How are we to signal for extract?"  He gave us a bag of IR chem lights to signal the helo crew the location of the LZ [Landing Zone].  "Here, use these.  Remember you have 72 hours to complete your mission."  We were to locate and retrieve the laptop.  Stanton and I had our orders to make our own way back from Ordos once we had turned over the laptop.  

 

Stanton and I surrendered our cell phones.  Good thing we were able to hang on to our weapons.  Good thing the guys from the team didn't search our backpacks.  We turned our backs on the SOG team, and walked down the stairs, working our way into the facility that was situated in a small valley.

 

I saw a sign that warned of a local bird flu breakout.  "Bird flu must have been a cover.  The place is under quarantine."

 

The authorities had the area locked down.  "Scaring the locals.  A lot of precautions for a computer virus.  Not sure we’re being told the whole story here," was Stanton's comment.

 

I repeated one of her frequent sayings, "Ours is not to reason why."  And said to her over my shoulder, "Isn’t that what you taught me?" 

 

She smiled at me and made the snarky comment, "And I thought you weren’t listening."

 

As Stanton and I turned a corner, I had my submachine gun at the ready.  We saw a courtyard covered with the shot, bloodied dead bodies of people in shirts, ties and white lab coats.  They looked to me to be software engineers based on how they were dressed. 

 

Stanton said to me with her usual sarcasm,  "Looks like we’re a little late to the party."

 

I told her, **"** Software engineers.  Not soldiers.  Why kill them?"

 

I decided to scout further to see if I could find any survivors of what looked like a massacre.  I turned one of the bodies over.  He gasped and tried to move away from me.  "We’ve got a live one here.  Mostly alive."

 

She asked him in Chinese, " _What happened here?"_

 

I turned away to pretend that I didn't understand her interrogation, as if I was guarding the perimeter of the area, while she continued to question him in Mandarin.

 

The wounded engineer said, " _They came…and took it away."_

 

She asked him, " _Took what away?"_

 

She didn't know that I understood his answers while I took a position with her at my six.

 

The engineer answered, " _The machine.  The machin_ e. _"_

 

I turned my head and asked, "What did he say?"

 

Then Stanton fatally shot the man with her 9mm while she said, "What did he say?  He said he wanted something for the pain." 

 

That made me really turn around.  She was so abrupt, I felt like she could have shot me then, too.  What a fucking ball breaker.

 

That's Stanton for you.  That's been how she's operated since we first started working together.  And we're joined at the hip, as usual, for this whole Ordos clusterfuck.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	8. December 23, 2010—Day 21

**December 23, 2010 **—** Day 21**

They gave us three days at the site to locate that laptop.  After two days of recon, Stanton and I had narrowed down the location to the one building that had the greatest security in place.

 

The best security included retinal and palm scans, the whole works.  I managed to pull the plug on the security devices by locating the back-up generators and cutting the power.

 

Once we forced our way into the secure area, I noticed more dead bodies all leaning in one direction.  "The action here was clean…fast.  BMR recon team, maybe, or hired guns."  A bright white alarm light in a corner of the room flashed at regular intervals.  I had my flashlight out and I saw what looked like a small Faraday-caged cabinet.  I guessed that the laptop we were to retrieve was inside that cage.

 

I asked Stanton, "Why kill all these people…and leave it behind?"  The laptop itself looked like an older vintage military-style PC laptop in a protective case.

 

"Maybe they copied it.  Altered it and left it for us to find."

 

We located the package just in time, too, since our time was running out **—** there were six more hours before we had to signal the helo at the LZ.

 

With some consideration I said, "Helo won’t be able to pick us up till dark.  We’ll need a safe place to wait for extract."

 

Stanton gave me a curious look as she put her sidearm in its holster, "Safe from whom?  We’re the only living people in this city."  Maybe subconsciously, I wanted to be safe, away from her.  She signaled me that it was time for us to make our way back to the designated LZ.  She waved an arm to gesture "After you."  I wasn't sure about having her at my six after we found the laptop.  There was no telling what her mind set could be, whether or not she'd've shot me in the back, merely "just because."

* * * * * * *

After we worked our way back to the LZ, we sat in a concrete block bunker-like structure, out of the wind and somewhat warmer.  More waiting.  Stanton suggested that we eat since we had the time, so we opened a couple of the last of the MREs [Meals Ready to Eat] we'd brought with us.

 

As we were sitting on the concrete floor eating, she commented, "Spent decades trying to invent the perfect nutritional ration."

 

I nodded, "And it’s still inedible."

 

She sat there for a moment, and said, **"** Just a matter of time before this is all obsolete."

 

I thought she was still talking about the so-called food, so I said, "We’ll still have to eat?"

 

She paused and then said, "I’m not talking about the MREs.  No.  I mean satellites replacing surveillance teams; drones replacing fighter pilots."

 

Catching her drift, I said **, "** So we’ve outlived our usefulness?  We’ll be replaced by a push of a button, is that it?"

 

 **"** What do you think?" she said.

 

I replied, **"** I think we’re still here." 

 

Then, she came up with something out of left field, **"** You ever wonder where we get our intel?"

 

This was way out of the blue for her, "I thought you didn’t ask questions.  Just followed orders."

 

She specifically avoided my comment and answered, "I never said it was easy."

 

She wasn't making any sense, so I looked up and out the doorway, "Sun’s setting.  Time to go."

 

Even though I didn't look directly at her, I watched from my peripheral vision as she took the recovered laptop from my backpack and slipped it into her own.  We sat there killing time in the shelter of the bunker, waiting by the LZ.  Waiting for the sun to finally go down.

 

* * * * * * *

As soon as it was dark, at last it was time for our scheduled extraction.  Stanton started to throw the activated chem lights out as a signal for the helo.  Funny, the IR lights looked more like those cyalume glow sticks kids carry around for fun at night.

 

Stanton kept throwing the light sticks out as she said to me, "Time to wrap this up, John."  She'd started a small fire in a big metal drum close on to the LZ.

 

I was reluctant to carry through with Snow's orders to "retire" my partner.  We'd saved each other's asses too many times, and killing her outright didn't set well with me.  I said to her, "Listen, Kara, There's something you need to know..."  I took aim, silently cocked my 9mm, thinking that I'd shoot her in the back.  And, shit.  I couldn't.  I didn't think she deserved to be shot in cold blood.  My stomach cramped up.  Yes, I felt fucked up about my relationship with her, but still, I couldn't do it.  She may've terrorized the shit out of me, but my ethical principles wouldn't let me just shoot her.  I quietly released the hammer on my weapon and lowered it to my side.  Just as I was turning away, Kara shot me in the gut.  What the fuck?!

 

She said, "Sorry, John," in her flat accent.  "Nothing personal.  They told me you've been compromised.  Said as your partner, it was my mess to clean up."

 

We'd both been setup by Snow, but Stanton was still her psychotic-self.

 

Though I was wearing my vest, the gunshot hurt like a sonofabitch.  Regardless of the damage to my gut, I started to laugh.  The whole situation would've been almost comical, if it weren't bordering on tragic.  

 

My laughter took Stanton by surprise.  "Something funny?"

 

I was still laughing as I told her, "I got the same orders as you!  Whoever sent us here…doesn’t want us to retrieve the package.  They want t'confirm it’s destroyed.  They want everyone who had contact with it destroyed...  And...you just gave them a beacon!"  I said with a grin.

 

She looked at me in total disbelief.  She couldn't believe that Snow would betray her, just like she'd done to me.  She'd always given me the "no one is indispensible" speech.  She'd constantly reminded me that _I_ could be easily replaced, but not her; she was essential.  She'd been training me for years to be the assassin she wanted.  Together, we'd become if not the best team, one of the best in the Agency, one of the most solid teams the CIA had sent out.  We could take on any assignment, and get reliable, consistent results.  She couldn't believe that after all this time, while she thought _I_ was just some dumb fuck, that the people in the Agency, her co-workers, her bosses, would finally treat _her_ the same way...  That they thought _she_ was just some dumb fuck, too.

 

Even though she'd shot me, my adrenaline was still up.  I gathered my energy and high tailed it uphill out of there with all the strength and speed I had.  As I was running, I heard the jet overhead as it locked on to the target area I'd just left.  Somehow, I managed to sprint far enough away so that I was out of range of the blast zone, but just barely.  I looked back at the massive explosion.  I wasn't gonna to hang around, return to scout to see if Stanton'd survived, nor was I going to see if there was more than one missile strike planned.  As far as I was concerned, Stanton was dead.  The people she thought supported her had put her out of my misery. 

 

Right then...  I'd just quit my job.

 

* * * * * * *

I was sure that the SOG guys were going to come back later and do recon to make certain that Stanton and I were dead, probably with first light.  Luckily enough for me, I could use the cover of darkness to make my way from the empty city more safely.  I still needed to be alert; they could use night vision and IR body heat sensors to find me if I wasn't careful.  Still, I had the element of surprise on my side.  They thought I was dead.

 

I was glad that I'd collected intel while I was in Beijing to engineer my self-extraction outta the Inner Mongolia-Ordos area.  Strategizing and planning ahead was a good idea on my part, considering how circumstances had gone sideways.

 

I'd assumed Snow'd only given _me_ orders to "retire" my partner.  I should've known better and paid attention to his comment, that after this op, "I could have all the leave I need."  I shoulda known that that asshole would've given Stanton the same orders he gave me; for her to "retire" me as well.  I should've put two and two together when the SOG team leader said that Stanton and I were on our own after we picked up the package.

 

What the fuck.  Now, I had to figure out how to get back to the States _and_ avoid capture by my former employers.  All of the evidence pointed to the fact that they'd never been on my side all those years I'd been with 'em.  Those fuckers!  They'd just _used_ me.

 

When I was with my unit in Delta Force, we always watched out for each other, never left anyone behind, no matter what the combat or other conditions were.  Our team knew we could depend on each other, that we had each other's backs; we stuck together.  The guys in my unit knew each other so well, that sometimes it was as though we could finish each other's sentences, read each other's minds.  Sure, we'd been in some sticky situations, but I didn't feel on edge all the time, like I did with Stanton and Snow.  I could automatically trust that the guys in my unit were watching out for me like I was watching out for them.  I never felt like they were always about to kill me, shoot me in the back just for the hell of it. 

 

Looking back, I couldn't believe that I'd decided to work with those CIA assholes instead of being with Jess?!  Why hadn't I quit before this?  Out of my misplaced sense of loyalty?  Or was it more realistically fear?  That the only way that I could leave The Company was when they killed me?

 

My main goal from Ordos on out, was to get back to Jess.

 

I _needed_ to get back to Jess!  The sooner the better!

 

* * * * * * *

My first objective was to find myself some shelter and avoid contact with any CIA spooks, especially those SOG guys.  After that I needed to check myself out to see if there was any serious damage from Stanton's gunshot wound.  I had to find a sheltered place that had enough light so I could do a visual inspection of my injury, as well find some protection from the cold.  I didn't feel much pain or discomfort when I was running away from the missile, so I'd guessed that Stanton's gunshot hadn't done too much serious damage, maybe just some deep bruising through the tactical vest.

 

Evaluating my situation, I realized that the Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun I'd been carrying was too large and heavy to easily conceal in my backpack. I made a decision to remove my prints and ditch the weapon far off the shoulder of the highway in a thicket of trees and shrubs, where it wouldn't be discovered quickly.   I kept the smaller Jericho 941 RPSL Semi-Compact 9mm hidden in my backpack.

 

I took the maps out from the bottom of my backpack where I'd stashed 'em.  After I unfolded the map of the local Inner Mongolia area, I turned on my small flashlight and confirmed my location.  My position by the corporate labs was outside the company town of Ordos itself.  The map indicated that if I headed in the opposite direction, there were wide spaces and few cities; too much desolation for my plans.  Refolding the maps and putting them in the backpack, I started out.   I trudged away from the industrial site towards Dongsheng, the nearest large city, bearing northeast. 

 

After walking some miles to the northeast on the mostly empty G65 roadway, a truck driver stopped after spotting me in the headlights and gave me a ride into town.  All I had to say was "Dongsheng," and he drove me near to the center of town and dropped me off.  I looked around for an open noodle or tea shop, and found one where I was the only Western face.  I was glad I had some Yuan [Chinese currency] on me, so I could order a bowl of noodles, sit and look more closely at the train schedules and maps.

 

Studying the train timetables showed me some options.  Should I head back into Beijing, and get an express train to the south or southeast?  Or should I see if I could put together a patchwork route headed south from Dongsheng to get connected to a cargo-container ship headed to the States?  On one hand, the CIA and the SOG guys wouldn't expect me to backtrack to Beijing, so there was a greater chance that I'd slide in under their radar.  It'd be faster for me to get where I wanted to go, with fewer transfers and less travel time spent.  But I had to remember that the rail schedules said that it was fourteen hours rail travel time from Dongsheng to Beijing.  At first I'd be going the opposite direction from my chosen destination. 

 

Strategically, the train to Beijing looked like the best way to go.  I'd keep the element of surprise.  The additional advantage in returning to Beijing was, I could get some help from the dissidents who had befriended me earlier in the month.  It seemed to me that air travel involved greater risk of getting caught than travel by ship.  I could rely on the dissidents to give me any intel they'd have that'd get me to a likely shipping port to return to the US.

 

I wanted ** **—**** I needed to get back to Jess.  I needed to keep myself safe—for her.

 

The train schedule to Beijing wasn't totally in my favor, though.  I wanted to be unpredictable and safe.  But the next train to the Beijing West station left Dongsheng the next day at 1910 hours.  Based on my experience in Europe and elsewhere, I wanted to see if I could buy a ticket at a self-service kiosk at the station.  It was helpful that I had more than enough Yuan with me.  Cash made my purchase untraceable.  I bought my ticket with no trouble.  Then, I went to find a place to hide while I waited.  I needed to be sure that I wasn't captured before I could make my escape.

 

I had this sudden feeling of panic; what if I wasn't as safe as I assumed I was?  What if Stanton or Snow or someone else had bugged my backpack or my clothing so they could follow me?  What if they tagged me with some GPS location bug?  I needed a secure place where I could thoroughly inspect all my gear.  I couldn't just assume they thought I was dead.  I had to be sure they _knew_ I was dead.

 

* * * * * * *

On the way back to the noodle shop from the train station, I decided to do some of my own recon around the nearby alleyways to see if there was any chance for some shelter while I waited for the day to pass.  I stopped at the noodle shop one more time, and the owner signaled to me _,_ asking in Mandarin _"Are you lost?"_   I said, "N _ot really._ "  He looked at my backpack, thinking I was a hiker or tourist who just happened to show up late after dark.  I was thankful that he couldn't see I held my left arm close to my side, bracing my wound.  He gave me a searching glance, up and down, and then jerked his head toward the kitchen.  He introduced himself as " _Guo An."_ As we walked to the kitchen in the back of the shop, he indicated there was a ladder by the sink area, and pointed up.

 

I managed to gather enough of my Mandarin to ask him, _"To stay the night?"_

 

And he said, _"Yes,"_ nodding his head.  He continued to wave at the ladder for me to climb up.

 

I asked him where the toilet was, so I could clean up first, and he showed me where that room was.  I went in; shut the door.  It was well lit enough so I could take a closer look at the injury.  I took off my shirt and tactical vest and saw that the skin was broken, but not very seriously.  Stanton had been almost at point-blank range when she shot me.  And, man, after my adrenalin levels had dropped, it hurt like hell!  I decided that I'd grab a clean cloth dishtowel or something like it on my way back through the kitchen and up to the loft so I could rig a makeshift bandage.  The angle of my body where she shot me was most likely what kept the body armor from completely doing its job.  I was thankful that at least I wasn't gut-shot.

 

After I climbed up the ladder, I saw a tidy loft with a clean pallet and blankets on the floor and a flashlight lantern.  I guessed that he'd sheltered other hikers before.  At least I had a warm place to hide, check my gear for any tracking devices and wait for tomorrow's train.  A place where I could rest up from all of the shit that'd been happening over the last few days.  Finally, a safe place away from Stanton.

 

Once I'd fixed the improvised bandage, I put the tactical vest back on—you can never be too careful—I lay down, still in my clothes, pulled a blanket over me and fell asleep.

 

* * * * * * *

I was dreaming of Jess.  I saw us in that hotel room in Mexico ** **—**** snuggling, kissing, and making love.  We were totally happy together.  Those six months and especially those four days in Mexico when I was with Jess were the happiest I'd ever been in my life.

 

She is my sweetheart.  My dearest love.  The love of my life.  I want to be with her forever.

 

That was before we saw the shit that hit New York's World Trade Towers on the TV while we were there in Mexico. 

 

My dream shifted and I was sucked down into a black hell.  I was in a nightmare.  I saw Jess walking away from me in this noir, black and white tunnel lit in this weird, dull yellow-gray atmosphere, but I was paralyzed.  Everything turned upside down.  I was ice cold, frozen.  I couldn't walk.  I couldn't move at all as I watched her turn away from me.  She took two steps and in a shimmer of dark light, disappeared.  Vanished.  All those feelings let loose and slammed into me.  Feelings I'd stuffed down.  I was holding my breath.  My heart stopped.  I woke up crying, tears streaming down my face.  I was choking ** **—****my throat, my chest, my body ached, I hurt so much.  I was glad that I was up in the loft, where no one could see or hear me.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	9. December 24, 2010—Day 22

**December 24, 2010 **—** Day 22**

The smells of food cooking and the sound of woks clanging on the stove woke me up.  I needed a shave.  I probably looked like hell after the night I'd spent, sweating, twisting in misery on my small bed.  Checking my watch, I noticed I'd managed to sleep until around 1100 hours.  I guessed the noodle shop was involved with serving lunch to their customers.  I'd seen an exit, the backdoor between the stove and the industrial-sized sink. I was glad that I didn't have to leave through the main part of the shop, and let the customers or anyone else know that I was there. I still needed to be prepared to deal with a worse case scenario, if the SOG guys'd started searching for me.  I was glad that I'd gotten enough sleep so I was more alert than I was last night.

 

It was only 6 more hours I would need to wait before I could leave for the train station and board for the trip back to Beijing.  I wanted to plan the time I spent at the station to downplay any chance of getting caught by anyone who might be looking for me.  Since I'd bought my ticket already, I thought I could maximize my chances of not getting captured by staying out of the waiting room area, and stand on the platform as soon as passengers were allowed to board. 

 

Good thing I was traveling light.  All I had was my black backpack, and I'd been told that since I was a foreigner, there was less of a chance for my carry-on to be inspected by the local police.  I buried my 9mm in and underneath my stuff and moved my passports so they were within easy reach. 

 

Now, all I had to do was wait.

 

Guo climbed up the ladder and poked his head up in the loft. He smiled as he checked up on me. He had a bowl of noodles with bits of pork stirred in.  He pointed down to the kitchen and said the word _"toilet?"_ making it clear that I was welcome to come down and wash up.

 

_"Yes, thank you."_

 

He took the bowl with noodles back down the ladder.  I grabbed the bag with my shaving kit from my backpack and followed him down.  He put the noodles on the large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, and nodded toward the bathroom.

 

After I pissed, I took off my shirt and vest to take another look at the wound to see if I'd started oozing blood.  It looked large, black and blue, with a scab starting to form on one section, but no bad swelling or heat, so that was good.  I planned on putting a fresh piece of cloth over the spot when I got back up to the loft.  I shaved, combed my hair and put the vest and shirt back on.  I almost felt like a new man.  It didn't hurt to look neat while I was traveling.  I didn't want to scare the other passengers.

 

Returning to the kitchen area, Guo handed me the bowl of noodles, and found a chair for me to sit on.  He waved for me to make myself comfortable.  He and his workers were in the middle of the lunch rush.  I was glad they let me stay hidden in the kitchen from their customers.  It was comforting just to sit, eat and regroup.  I was glad that Guo didn't ask me any questions—not that I could answer him all that well.

 

When I'd finished my noodles, I got up and went over to the sink to rinse out the bowl.  Looking around, I saw that I could help out by pitching in, so I rolled up my sleeves and started to wash dishes.  When Guo came in and saw me, he looked surprised.  So I just nodded in his direction and kept washing.  I had nothing else to do, other than wait.  Helping out was better than just sitting, getting anxious.

 

* * * * * * *

About the time 1700 hours came around, I went back up the ladder and gathered my stuff.  I took it all out of the backpack so I'd be able to put it in a logical, accessible order, so I'd have a mental inventory.  I did a double check for tracking devices just in case.  I stashed the train ticket inside my shirt, along with the most useful passport.  The noodle shop'd been a haven thanks to Guo.  I'd no idea what to expect once I went out the back door.  Or what to anticipate at the train station.  Would the SOG team be there, waiting for me?  I'd left myself no other choice other than to get on board that train and get the hell outta Dodge.

 

I'd been thinking about how to approach the train station.  I could make an end run by following the tracks up to the platform, avoiding going through the waiting room area.  Last night, I'd done some preliminary recon.  The building was new and large.  Lots of places to hide, both for that ops team and me.  But then, I remembered that old saying about hiding in plain sight.  I was still in fighting shape.  The bruised spot on my gut wouldn't hinder me.  I could take on and dispose of at least 4, maybe 5 of those SOG men with no problem.  Especially if I was expecting them, and I still had the element of surprise.   It would be painless, though not for them.

 

Since I'm so tall compared to most of the Chinese around me, I threw out any thoughts of disguises other than to look like a tourist.  Time to stop wasting energy worrying and just get on board. 

 

Sometimes no plan is the best plan.

 

The clock was ticking.  Time to head out.  I policed the loft so it was ready for the next guest, grabbed my backpack and climbed back down the ladder.  Guo was waiting for me.  My first instinct was to bow, but then he offered his hand for a handshake.  I reached out, our hands clasped, and he pulled me into a half-hug, patting me on the back.  Smiling, he wished me good luck.  I felt as though he'd almost made me a member of his family.  Part of me didn't want to leave.

 

Once I walked out the back door, the intensity of my observations amped up.  I automatically slipped into clocking my environment, checking for anyone who would be looking for me—and not in a good way.  Traffic in the area looked normal for a weekday late afternoon—lots of people walking as well as riding bicycles and driving vehicles.  I took extra care to check the rooflines and any upper windows for possible snipers.

 

By the time I'd reached the train station, I'd met no opposition or resistance.  I didn't see anything resembling spooks, snipers, movements or tactics. That was a relief.  I still wanted to remain vigilant until I made it to Taiwan.  Until I made it back to Jess. 

 

As far as I was concerned, since the CIA teams weren't openly looking for me, I _was_ dead to them ** **—**** for now.

 

The time to board came up soon.  Passengers lined up, presented tickets and found assigned seats.  My ticket was for the "hard sleeper" car of the train.  I'd planned to hide in the sleeper, as well as give myself time to recover from the gunshot wound.  Not totally comfortable, yet I wanted to be unpredictable so the Company wouldn't find me.

 

I was looking forward to meeting with my new-found English speaking dissident friends back in Beijing.  I was hoping to get their help in getting to a busy port city and back to the States. 

 

* * * * * * *

Despite trying to relax and get some sleep on the trip, to recuperate from the gunshot wound, I couldn't escape Stanton. The first dream I remember, my sweet Jess showed up.   The two of us were lying in bed, just cuddling.  Stanton suddenly appeared and stood with her gun at Jess's head.  I jolted awake.  I felt like I'd almost fallen out of bed.  I was afraid to go back to sleep.  I couldn't escape Kara, even though she was dead.  My inner self felt saturated with all the corruption I'd been forced to sink into.  I was in a living hell.  There was no way to wash my skin, cleanse my soul down to the very cellular level to free myself from the ground-in grime of the darkness I'd lived.  I'd degenerated for years by living under the destructive influence of Stanton and her black shit.  I'd become someone inhuman.  I'd become someone I hated.

 

Later that night, in another fucked up dream, Stanton showed up, riding on my back, her claws piercing my skin while I was making love to Jess.  It was another dream about those four days Jess and I were in Mexico, when time lasted forever, and I hadn't even met Kara yet.  But Stanton had her hooks in me, muttering in my ear, how I couldn't cut it.  How Jess was fragile and pathetic.  How I didn't deserve either of them, Kara or Jess .  Of course, in my dream, Stanton told me that I was a miserable son of a bitch—how my life wasn't worth living. That I would never measure up to her strength.  How, compared to Kara, I was only just a piece-of-shit asset to be used and thrown away.

 

Christ!  Try as hard as I could, I couldn't get rid of that bitch, Stanton.  Why the fuck wouldn't she just stay dead? 

 

I kept waking up through the night, worried that I'd moaned or cried out, that I'd disturbed other travelers as they were trying to sleep.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	10. December 25, 2010—Day 23

**December 25, 2010 **—** Day 23**

Fourteen hours later, the train arrived at the Beijing West station at 0910 hours.  So far, I'd not seen or detected any agents looking for me.  My fellow travelers tended to ignore me, except for some who tried to sell me something to eat on the way.  I didn't have much of an appetite.  Though I knew that I should eat something to keep me going. 

 

Walking, I left the railway station.  First, I got on one of the city buses and headed into the city center.  After traveling for a while, I left the bus and started walking in the direction of the city park where I'd earlier met the dissidents and _XiangQi_ players. 

 

Along the way, I consistently backtracked and checked my six in case I was being tailed.  Just in case anyone was looking for me, I decided to buy another jacket and a hat to hide my hair and face.  Near the city park, I found a menswear shop that catered to tourists.  I found a gray sport coat, a different looking winter jacket that was navy blue and a black porkpie hat to change my appearance. I thought about exchanging my black backpack for something else, but I noticed that many of the Western tourists had similar looking luggage, so I thought I'd fit in with no trouble.

 

It took me maybe two hours to get to that city park.

 

I took a seat by one of the _XiangQi_ tables, I unfolded my train schedule to start planning my trip to the south.  A few of my dissident friends walked up, surprised to see me again.  They invited me to leave the open park area and join them at a teashop just down the street where we could have some privacy.  I told them that I wanted to get back to the U.S. to see my sweetheart as soon as I could.  I said that my coworkers who had come with me to China had changed their plans.  I'd decided since then to get back home on my own.  When they heard that, they immediately offered their help for me to find a reasonable way back.  All I asked them was that my return trip didn't involve air travel.  After some discussion, they suggested that I head south to Quanzhou—a busy seaport that they'd heard had a lot of small boat traffic between the Mainland and Taiwan.  From the information circulating among the dissidents, the Taiwanese were friendly and helpful.

 

We found a large round table in a nearby teahouse.  I sat facing the entrance, watching for familiar Western faces—faces I didn't want to see.

 

We drank many cups of tea, as we settled on what appeared to be a secure strategy.  The Z-9 express train left at 1915 with a number of transfer station options to get to my next destination—Quanzhou.  My new allies told me that it was easy to travel by the express train, since foreigners were quite common.  I could travel as I was, looking like a tourist.  I knew that I had an assortment of passports to change my identity as needed.  I kept the rest of my plan to myself to shield both my dissident allies and me.

 

I was one more step closer to reaching my Jessica.  I carried her love deep inside, guarded and protected.  My thoughts of her kept me pushing on.  I would never give up on her.  In my heart, I knew she was waiting for me.

 

* * * * * * *

My new Chinese friends were so understanding and sympathetic to my situation, even though they didn't know I wasn't sharing my whole story. They taught me the Mandarin word for "sweetheart," **—** _àirén_.  Sometimes I felt like I didn't want to leave them, they were so kind and sympathetic after all of Stanton's bullshit, the way she'd constantly jerked me around.   She'd always tried to disguise her power plays as if she was still training me.  Dammit!  She fuckin' used me, forcing me to stay in her dark world, just when I was starting to wake up to realize how much shit she and Snow were trying to feed me.  Now, there was a way out for me.

 

One of my English-speaking friends, Chen Wei, walked with me to the railway station.  He offered to help me through the process of buying my ticket for the Z-9 train.  Together, we selected the series of transfer stations to Quanzhou after discussing the pros and cons—whether there would be surveillance, passport monitoring and the like.  I would board the Z-9 express in Beijing, and take the first transfer arriving at 0903 in Shaoxing. Then, take the D3213 train south from there at 1030 to arrive at Quanzhou by 1542 hours.  I would arrive early enough to find a hostel or some simple hotel where I could spend the night. Then, the two of us went for supper at a nearby restaurant while I waited for the time to board the train.   So I wouldn't have to carry the jacket I'd worn to Ordos, I offered it to Chen, who gratefully accepted the warm clothing. 

 

I needed to pay attention to the transfer stations during this overnight rail trip.  I could not zone out or forget my objective—to head south and get safely away from China and anyone who might be looking for me.

 

We shook hands as I thanked Chen, wishing him well.  We parted company at the entrance to the train station.

 

The intensity of my observation and surveillance of the area close by increased as I approached the depot.  Any guys from The Company would see the station as a damn good place to ambush and apprehend me.  I redoubled my efforts to elude capture by carefully assessing what sort of people were in the area, and by staying close to people on the perimeter of larger groups. The faces I was looking for were the ones who looked like me. The ones who have that look...as though they've been made, while they were watching—for someone like me. 

 

* * * * * * *

When it was just about time to get on the train, I joined a line. I made sure that I was the only one to handle my backpack.  It was heavier than would be expected, or so I thought, because I also had my weapon, magazines and ammo concealed near the bottom.  I found a large crowd of Americans in a tour group headed to Hong Kong. I could tell where they were from by how loudly they were talking.  All I needed to do was hang around the perimeter of their group and get on board with them.  I brought out my "John Rooney" American passport.  I was hiding in plain sight.  It was easy, making friends and mingling with the tourists. 

 

Boarding the sleeping car, I did a quick recon, looking for anomalies, people who looked out of place, or whose energy was too gung ho—someone like me.  I was looking for those guys from the SOG Alpha team.  I didn't wanna leave anything to chance by dropping my guard.  Just thinking about getting back to Jess kept me alert and on point.

 

According to the train schedule, the train arrived at the first transfer station, Shaoxing, a little over twelve hours' travel time **—** at 0933.  I'd have to wait there for around an hour until the departure for Quanzhou at 1030 that same morning, arriving in Quanzhou around 1500. That was early enough, I guessed, to find a place to sleep in town with no real problem.

 

* * * * * * *

The train was under way. We'd left the station about an hour earlier.  I was lying in my assigned bunk, curtains drawn, still in my clothes, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.  I saw the shadow of someone flicker on the curtains as they walked by.  I'd learned through experience to trust my intuition.  I waited.  My gut told me that the person would walk past again.  I watched to see the shoes return to the space below the curtain, just in case whoever showed up wanted to take a shot at me.  How could I have missed picking this person out from those who were waiting at the station?  How could I have missed recognizing this person during my earlier recon?  I couldn't afford to have anyone screwing with me, intercepting me, blocking my progress back home.  

 

I decided not to wait for whomever it was to return back down the passageway.  As quietly as I could, I got down from the sleeping platform and followed in the direction I'd seen them walking.  If anything, I could first apprehend them, then verify who they were and question them as to what their intentions were.   As I walked down the train car, one of the American women from the tour group approached me, returning to her space.  She was medium tall, of average build for a middle-aged woman, and wore glasses with red frames. The light green jacket she wore with slim black jeans matched well with her short blond hair.  Just as we were shoulder to shoulder, she put her hand on my left arm and asked me if I wanted to join her in the dining car with her friends for a drink. 

 

"You're a good looking man.  What do you say?"

 

"Well, thanks.  But I'm not really interested in visiting with you all right now.  I've been traveling for a while, and I've got to get some sleep."

 

"Okay.  But consider joining us if you change your mind."

 

I was torn between being cagey and charming and joining the tourist group for a while, or staying hidden, out of sight from anyone who might possibly be looking for me from the CIA.  I didn't know if they would or could be out scouting for me.  I decided that caution would pay off over time.  So I kept to myself.  I walked back to my space and rolled back into my bunk. 

 

I was lying there, but my eyes refused to close.  I was just too jumpy.  I couldn't relax, though people were only walking by the curtains with no outward indication that they intended to capture me.  The slightest sound had me reacting.  I had to figure out a way to calm down and still be vigilant.  I didn't want to drop my guard.  And I knew this edginess of mine would do me no good in the long term.

 

Unbuttoning my shirt and loosening my tactical vest, I put my hand over the makeshift bandage on my gut.  It felt cool and dry to the touch, so I decided to wait until the end of the rail trip at Quanzhou before I put a fresh bandage on it.  I refastened the vest and buttoned the shirt, still trying to relax. 

 

Somehow, the motion of the train rolling and swinging on the tracks finally lulled me into a light sleep.  I knew I needed rest to be sharp, but I was afraid that if I did fall asleep, I'd be suffocated in more nightmares.  That I'd have to deal with more psychic torment from Stanton.  That I'd continue processing the missile strike event that killed her and almost killed me.  All of that as well as dreaming about my never ending agony of watching Jess as she walked away from me at that airport, over and over.  

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	11. December 26, 2010—Day 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions John's strategy to survive Stanton's predatory sexual behavior, repeated rapes and abuse.

**December 26, 2010—Day 24**

After three hours or so, I woke up, and realized that I was never going to get more shuteye.  I'd had no dreams from hell, but I'd never call it restful sleep.  I checked my watch, and saw that it was almost 0200 hours.  There were still a little less than eight hours travel time left.  So I got out of bed, gathered my gear that I'd taken out and re-stowed it my backpack, hoisted it over my right shoulder and decided to go to the dining car to see if I could get a cup of coffee or something, and just sit.  It was either sit, or do some recon and prowl the whole length of the train.  I had some time to kill before I arrived at the stop at Shaoxing.

 

Once I got to the dining car, I found that I was the only one there.  Nice, quiet and solitary.  Just what I wanted right then.  The windows on the side of the car showed the view of black, blank darkness outside the train.  The light from inside the car would catch flashes of railway signal poles as we passed them by.  Was I traveling from the hell of the CIA to another unknown hell through this shitty limbo of nothingness?  Was I stuck in a holding pattern?  Could I have escaped death in Ordos only to be caught by my former co-workers who insisted they were allies, and had finally shown their true colors—that they were my enemies?  Fuck.  They had always been my enemy.  People in the Agency had always seen me as their asset, and used me for their personal advantage.  They never had any of my interests at heart.  My life wasn't really that important to their agenda.  I had ignored all the signs to avoid facing the fact that all this time, I'd really been on my own through all those operations.  There was no one coming to save me.

 

I started thinking about Kara.  Yeah, Stanton.  Sure, she was my partner.  She and I had become the best at what we did for The Company.  We were their "super team" of any of them.  Yeah, we depended on each other to have each other's back, and that was why we were so successful.  And then, last year in April, that time in Paris, after we offed that couple in the bistro...  She suspected that I wouldn't kill them, or was it that I couldn't?  I had no choice then but to kill them.  When she challenged me sexually, raped me in actuality, I didn't refuse her.  We ended up in bed.  It started out with her fucking me, but then, over the course of that twenty months' time, I ended up letting her have sex with me just to keep her from killing me; she was a sexual predator.  I couldn't help myself, it was my only strategy to stay alive.  

 

I'd lost Jess since she'd gotten married to someone I thought was a much better man than me, but maybe I was wrong about Peter.  I realized that nobody else would love me, now that my deepest self was steeped in murderous fucking darkness.  I felt that nobody with any sense of goodness could understand me, know me, let alone love me.  Hell, Stanton'd convinced me that no one would want to ever love the predatory assassin I'd become.  Jesus.  I was isolated and detached from everything good.  I'd let the darkness and Stanton pull me under long ago. 

 

And yet, Jess had reached out few weeks ago.  She'd called me, asking for...me!  Wanting _my_ help.  If she knew me now, would sweet Jess still want me?  Did we have any chance in hell, after what I'd done for all those years?  After what I'd become?  Was there any fucking chance that I could wash my soul clean?  Could I be cleansed emotionally and spiritually?  Was there any chance that she would even want to wash me clean?  Could Jess and her love save me from all of my darkness?  Or was I ultimately left to save her from...from me?  Was my only solution to wall myself away from the goodness and compassion of those I loved, like Stanton had?  Did I have to protect those I really loved from...me? 

 

In my isolated and unhappy frame of mind, with that dark envelope outside the train, I started to consider that maybe suicide could be one certain way to keep everyone safe from the cold blooded killer that I'd become.

 

First, I just had to get back to Jess and find out her answer.

 

* * * * * * *

The food service area in the dining car was closed, so I had to do without coffee.  I sat with my agitated thoughts, remote and abandoned, struggling to figure out how to get back ASAP, back to Jessica to help her.

 

Sitting there, I mulled over my options.  But in the end, I realized that my initial plans were solid, so there was really nothing I could do except wait to arrive in Quanzhou.  I wanted something to do, some action, but waiting patiently was the only sensible alternative.

 

Around 0500 hours, the cooking staff came on deck to get their operation ready for breakfast.  When one of the cooks saw me, he asked if I wanted some tea or coffee to drink.  They're used to serving American tourists.  He said he'd get some coffee ready for me, while they were setting up. 

 

The sky and landscape were still invisible outside the moving train.  It was still a couple hours before dawn, but I could see some sign of the beginnings of light on the horizon.  A couple walked into the car; they looked to be married.  The man nodded in my direction, but they found themselves another table down the car from me, leaving me to myself.  I got up and paid for my coffee, and sat back down at my table, warming my hands on the ceramic mug.  You'd think that after all my years in the military, that I'd be used to waiting.  But knowing that Jess needed me sooner rather than later, made me more restless than usual.

 

Later on, around 0600, the tourists and others started to show up in small groups in the dining car.  I decided that I'd better go back to my sleeping rack, and wait until I arrived at Shaoxing.  I wanted to minimize my visibility to protect the tourists, just in case there was a chance the members of their group could be questioned later on by those assholes from the CIA.

 

* * * * * * *

Before the train pulled into Shaoxing, I grabbed my backpack, zipped up my jacket and pulled my hat down over my hair.  I knew that the Z-9 Express waited for only five minutes at each of the few stops it made on the way south to Hong Kong.  When I got down from the steps of the train car, it was 0910 hours.  As I stepped onto the platform, I scanned the area first for anyone waiting to take me into custody.  Then, I kept an eye out to see who got off the train with me at this stop.  They could be tailing me.  I couldn't drop my guard from this intense level of awareness until after the train left.  Maybe even until after I boarded the train I was transferring to for the next stop.  My connecting train left at 1030 hours, so I had around 90 minutes or so to wait.  Lucky for me, I didn't notice anyone looking for me, or on my six.

 

Since I hadn't eaten breakfast, I decided to scout around to see if I could find something to eat, even though I didn't feel hungry.  Not eating wasn't going to help me heal that bruise from the gunshot.  And coffee and nerves wouldn't sustain me forever.  Since this stop was off the beaten tourist path, all I could find were dumpling and noodle vendors serving the typical Chinese breakfast, so I grabbed a bowl of noodle soup with beef and vegetables.  I found a place in a remote corner to sit in the depot with my back to a wall to wait for my next train. 

 

Finally, 1000 arrived, and I made my way down to the platform to get the D3213 train to Quanzhou.  I was getting closer to finally getting my feet off Chinese soil and on my way back Stateside.  This whole "self extraction" process wasn't going fast enough for me.  I'd been in China for around 20-21 days so far.  Shit, that was three fuckin' weeks!  And the key to my exit strategy was for me to somehow get on a cargo ship and get back to the States.

 

Not much happened during the five or so hours the train from Shaoxing took to get down to Quanzhou.  That didn't mean I dropped my guard.  Hell, no.  I'd learned quickly that the closer an agent got to their destination, the more likely they could get tripped up by overconfidence.  So I sat with the Asian passengers, watching the scenery go by, trying to relax and drop the tense look from my face. 

 

After my train arrived at the Quanzhou rail depot, I looked around the station to see if I could find some bus schedules and maps to find a straightforward way down to the main shipping port area.  My first priority was to find a small ship or boat to take me to Taiwan.  After that, I'd look for a hostel or other place to sleep.  I didn't want to waste any more time working my way back to Jess.  I was hoping for the best option, that I'd find a private watercraft to take me to Taiwan immediately, so I could sleep aboard tonight, while I was in transit. 

 

I'd been steadily working my way to get out of China since December 23rd, when Stanton and I were waiting by the LZ and I'd evaded that missile strike.  

 

So far, it'd been three days just to get from Ordos down to Quanzhou.  But I should be thankful.  None of my old so-called "friends" tried to stop me.  Kara'd trained me well.  I must be doing something right.  But, hey, I still needed to be careful.  My trip wasn't finished yet.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	12. December 27, 2010—Day 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maersk Shipping: www.maerskline.com Kaohsiung, Taiwan to Charleston, SC = 35 days [via Panama Canal]
> 
> Galley utilityman: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steward's_assistant

**December 27, 2010—Day 25**

I caught a taxi that was waiting by the train station.  It only cost me 15 Yuan—a little less than $2.50.  I figured I'd save myself some time, and get directly to the Quanzhou Port area.  Now all I had to worry about was finding someone who spoke enough English, so I could catch a boat over to Taiwan.  I shouldn't have worried, though.  I learned that there are usually people who want to practice their English all over China.  Once the taxi dropped me off I wandered around until I came to an area with lots of boats and smaller ships.  I asked around if there was anyone who was heading to the Kaohsiung Port area, when and how much it would cost.  Typically, there were lots of negotiations for how much it would cost for me to be taken to the largest port in Taiwan.  Since I was trying to get there as soon as I could, price for me was no object, although I didn't say that out loud.

 

By the time 1730 hours came, I was onboard, and the boat underway.  There was a crew of 5 people—all of them Lim family members based in Taiwan.  The vessel was large enough so that there was a small galley and 4 small cabins off the main passageway.  The winter ocean wasn't overly rough since the Taiwan Strait is sheltered from the Pacific Ocean.  Captain Lim said that we'd arrive at Kaohsiung Port in 6 hours or so.  At last, I was done with Mainland China. 

 

I decided that I'd get the burner phone out from the bottom of my backpack once we'd landed and I had found a place to stay the night. Then, I'd try to call Jess and let her know where I was, and a little information on why I'd been delayed for so many weeks.

 

Once we arrived at Kaohsiung, I needed to see if there were any container ships headed back Stateside.  During my conversations with some of the dockside people at Quanzhou, I'd learned that Maersk Shipping went from Kaohsiung to the port at Charleston, South Carolina via the Panama Canal.  I'd considered returning back to the States through either San Francisco or Los Angeles, but my gut told me that Charleston was a more unpredictable destination than either of the first two, plus I'd be closer to getting to New Rochelle in a shorter time.  Even though the crossing was going to take 35-36 days.  That would mean I'd arrive in Charleston no sooner than February 3rd, assuming that the ship departed by December 29th.  Shit, that was a hell of a long time.  But I wanted to be sure that they still thought I was dead, that I was invisible to The Company that had burned me.

 

We arrived at the Kaohsiung home base of the family at 2245 hours. Since it was so late, the Lims offered to let me stay on board their boat in one of their cabins for a small fee.  They even offered to share dinner with me.  It looked as though they lived on their boat. 

 

That night, as I was lying in my bunk, I was thinking of Jess, and worried about how long it was taking me to get back to her.  I wondered what she was doing now.  I left my clothes on while I was lying in the cabin bunk under the blankets.  I had no interest in sex, especially after being used by Stanton for so long.  I cupped myself, my hand over the cloth on the crotch of my pants.  I needed to hold and comfort myself.  I let my eyes close and wished for dreamless sleep.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	13. December 28, 2010—Day 26

**December 28, 2010—Day 26**

Turns out, I was able to find a job as one of the Catering Crew for the Maersk Company's container ship _, The Majestic Maersk._ They had an opening with the Galley Support Crew since one of their utility men had gotten ill.  He'd decided to stay in Kaohsiung to recuperate.  Their Chief Cook, Lucas Andersen, was happy to hire me, since I had experience in food service and clean up.  They quickly took me on as the replacement, since I spoke English and knew my way around a commercial kitchen.  This was my lucky day.  There was no long-term six-month contract for me to sign, so I could end my tour when we arrived at Charleston, SC.

 

While I'd been overseas, we'd been hearing about the problems shipping companies had been having with Somalian pirates taking over container ships, killing the crew, and taking the ships' captains hostage.  Back in April, 2009, when Stanton and I'd been in Paris, pirates had overrun the merchant vessel, _Maersk Alabama,_ capturing the ship's Master, Captain Richard Phillips.  International merchant ship rules as well as Maersk company policy used to state that no crew member could have any firearms on board their vessels.  The crew on the _Alabama_ only had pocket knives for self defense, which I thought was impractical, short sighted and crazy.  Maersk company policy on personal firearms was in transition when I joined _The Majestic's_ Galley Crew, December, 2010, but I decided I'd dispose of my gun, magazines and ammo into the waters of Kaohsiung Harbor before boarding _._   Now, there was no chance that the CIA could trace me using ballistics from my Jericho handgun.

 

Bringing my backpack on board, I signed in using my "John Anderson" passport alias. I first met with Captain William Ross and Chief Officer Henry Martel, who both welcomed me aboard.  One of the Galley Crew, he introduced himself as Felipe, took me below decks to my quarters and showed me where I was to stow my gear, sleep and get cleaned up.  I was surprised, but I shouldn't've been; instead of military racks like I was used to, this newly-built ship had private quarters for each crew member, including an en-suite bathroom and shower.  

 

One of the former crew members using the room had left a poster of Kwan Yin hanging over the bed.  In my mind, I asked Her for as much strength, compassion and mercy as She could give me.  I was glad to see Her there, especially after my Chinese dissident friends had taken me to that shrine in Beijing.   My friends assured me that Her influence reached farther than just China.  For whatever reason, I had this feeling that She had followed me on my journey, as though She was hiding me, protecting me, too.  I'd learned long ago to trust my intuition—that sixth sense—and not ignore its message. 

 

So much time had gone by...I'd forgotten how long...since I'd slept in a room by myself.  Maersk treated their employees well.

 

I charged up my burner phone enough to place a call to Jess.  But I just got her voice mail.  "This is Jessica.  You missed me.  Leave a message."  I didn't want to leave a message.  I was worried that there could be a chance that Peter might be monitoring her voice mail.

 

It'd been before the trip to Ordos that I'd had a shower.  But first, I needed to look at the wound on my gut. I hadn't had the opportunity to closely examine it under the temporary bandage since I'd left that noodle shop in Dongsheng. I took off my shirt and the tactical vest, then removed that piece of dishtowel. The bruising was starting to turn yellow, a sure sign that I was healing normally. The scabbing on the wound was still there, and the temperature of the surrounding skin felt normal. I felt relieved that I hadn't been more seriously injured.

 

I wanted to shave and scrub off the travel dirt from my body before I reported for duty in the kitchen.  I stowed my kit in the bathroom, shaved, took a piss, then showered.  I washed myself everywhere I could reach.  I wanted to scour away every place on my body where Stanton'd touched me.  I wanted to remove all of the shit she'd rubbed into me.  But there was no way I could scrub my mind, heart and soul.  I rinsed what I could of her down the drain.  Stepping out and toweling off, I felt lots better.  Lighter.  Calmer.  I put on the last of my fresh underwear, made a mental note to myself to do laundry, and got dressed. I put on the ballistic vest again under my shirt and went up to the kitchen to see what my assignment entailed.

 

Getting back topside, the kitchen crew was in high gear, getting meals set up and prepared in advance and setting up the kitchen for seagoing duty.  Besides that, we were feeding the crew as the containers were getting loaded on board.  Carlos, the Steward's Assistant, had me mopping floors, making sure the commercial dishwasher was working and getting all the kitchen hardware ready and operational.  Then, they had me taking inventory and stowing food in both the dry and cold storage areas.  We were all busy, with a midnight deadline to meet before we cast off.  We worked through the night, knowing that once we were underway activities would settle down to a daily routine, barring any storms.

 

Only 36 more days to go until I would see Charleston.   After that, there were only two days at the most to drive north to New Rochelle to see Jess.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	14. December 29, 2010—Day 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tropical Storm Omeka: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tropical_Storm_Omeka

**December 29, 2010—Day 27**

 

 _The Majestic_ was ready to disembark with a full crew and container load.  The vessel's departure time was around 0100 hours, almost high tide.  We'd be spending New Year's Day out in the open Pacific, making an eastward heading toward the Panama Canal. 

 

Juan Torres, the Steward, mentioned that as the ship was on route west to Asia, they'd bypassed Tropical Storm Omeka.  It had been located 280 miles southeast of Midway Island, creating regional storm-generated seas that were rough, but not hazardous.  They had to lash some of their galley equipment down, but otherwise, operations proceeded normally. They served pre-prepared food from the refrigerators that were then reheated.  Captain Ross was assuming that Tropical Storm Omeka was the last storm for the winter of 2010-2011.  But he knew from long experience that really, only time and the weather itself would tell.

 

After serving breakfast to the container crew, all the galley personnel cleaned and did the set up for the next meal, swabbing down the kitchen, floors and all.  Those of us who were done with our duties, were free to do what we wanted.  I knew I needed some shut-eye, having worked since I joined the ship's crew 36 hours ago.

 

* * * * * * *

It was comforting that I could sleep in my underwear—sleep however I wanted—without Stanton dictating what _she_ required.  Over the next few days, I started to notice changes, how my body arranged itself while I was in bed without Stanton sleeping with me.  I hadn't had morning wood for so many months, it felt like forever.  Most of the time on this voyage, I often woke up and often found myself lying on my right side, my left hand hugging my privates over the fabric of my briefs, my right hand clutching my left shoulder.  I longed for some sort of emotional healing, some tenderness.  I ached for Jess.  

 

The last couple of years spent confined with Stanton and Snow were some of the loneliest I'd spent in my life.  There was no privacy with Snow, Stanton and me together all the time.  How different from all the years I'd spent in Delta.  We didn't have much privacy in those combat and black ops situations either, but I knew I could rely on the guys in my unit, that we respected and watched out for each other, no matter what.  And those last weeks, I'd felt more than desolate and anxious, worrying about Jess, and trying to hold Kara at arm's length while completing that fucked up op at Ordos. 

 

On this return trip, solitude was my friend.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	15. December 30, 2010—Day 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dark After Midnight, by Wanderer—reference to "Great Expectations" in  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/424835

**December 30, 2010—Day 28**

 

Today, I finished doing my recon of the ship's facilities.  I found it gratifying to discover that there was a nice-sized ship's library.  On my survey, I also found a TV and computer room, an exercise room and on the main deck, a regulation-height basketball hoop with a half court that was just forward of the bridge super structure, between the stacks of containers.  Not bad.  Now I knew I could survive the voyage.  I just wished I could get to Jess faster, but still I wanted to be out of danger.  I needed to remember that the Agency could still be looking for me.

 

We were out on the open ocean, under sunny skies. Most of the catering support crew was Filipino.  Sometimes I felt like the odd man out.  As I was walking on deck, I saw Felix, one of the guys on dishwashing detail with me, tending a fishing line he'd thrown over the side.  Just as I walked over, he reeled in the line with a good-sized mackerel on the hook.

 

"Looks to me like you're gonna fix yourself fresh fish for dinner!" 

 

He smiled, then, he reached into the tackle box at his feet, pulled out a reel of line, fastened a hook and held it out to me. "John, you can fish, too. We catch twice as much. Maybe even have enough for all the Galley Crew to eat for supper tonight."  Right then, I'd made a new friend.  

 

Felix and I sat there on the starboard deck in companionable silence, watching the fishing lines and the ship's wake from the bow foam and spill in waves, marking half of a V-line away from us.  In a couple of hours, we managed to catch almost twenty good-sized mackerel.  We were all going to eat well tonight. 

 

That evening, Chief Cook Andersen had me get the charcoal grill fired up on deck, ready to cook a fish-feast.  Felix and I cleaned the mackerel, and Chief Andersen marinated them in a garlic vinaigrette just before putting them on the grill.  The rest of the Galley Crew added some of their favorite dishes to share—salads, casseroles and the like.  That was a memorable dinner, made better because we'd all shared in the preparation.

 

Since there was time before I turned in, I went below decks to see what the library had on the shelves.  One of the books just fell off the shelf as I went by, almost landing on my shoulder ** **—**** _Great Expectations_ by Dickens.  I hadn't read that since sophomore English class in high school.  For whatever reason, I guess that book wanted me to read it again.  I s'posed I could read it clear through in 33 days or so.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	16. December 31, 2010—Day 29

**December 31, 2010—Day 29**

 

Earlier today, Captain Ross asked Chief Andersen to set up a New Year's celebration for the crews.  So all of us got busy in the galley, setting up a meal made of mostly appetizer-type foods along with freshly squeezed lemonade (a real luxury) and different kinds of non-alcoholic punch.   Too bad it's Maersk corporate policy that they run a dry company.  Zero tolerance for alcohol and illegal drugs on board any of their vessels.  Other than the opportunity for extra food and drink, we didn't get too rowdy.  When midnight rolled around, those of us who were off duty grabbed plastic cups of lemonade or punch and toasted one another's health and good luck for the New Year.  And no, we didn't throw confetti in the air.  I am sure that I wasn't the only one who offered a private toast to an absent family member or loved one.  It can be lonely and challenging to work away from your family during the holidays.  I've known many holiday seasons away from the States spent participating in various operations deployed on Special Forces and later, CIA assignments.

 

I was glad that Ross tried his best to make our isolated situation aboard ship not as feel as lonely as it could be for all of us.  He made an effort to create opportunities for some sense of camaraderie among all of us. He didn't treat us as though we were just workers on the vessel.  

 

Over time, I learned that his family was based in Providence, Rhode Island.  He and his wife, Edie, had four daughters ** **—**** Kathleen, Colleen, Maureen and Eileen.  I could tell that he missed them, especially at this time of year, despite his love for the seafaring life.  He'd been the Master of one of the Weyerhaeuser ships at one time in his long career.  He was a natural leader; he knew that cultivating mutual respect among crew members created a strong, cohesive team.  His attitude reminded me of some of the best men I'd served with in Special Forces.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	17. January 1, 2011—Day 30

**January 1, 2011—Day 30**

A brand new year.  I'm still too far away from Jess.  At least, I'm headed back to be with her. 

 

In my heart, I offered her a new year's greeting:  "Happy New Year, Sweetheart.  Wishing you all the best for 2011.  Things will be better once I get to you in New Rochelle.  I promise to do my best to make everything better for you, and for us.  I love you so much."  

 

I was feeling so lonely.

 

* * * * * * * 

Since it was New Year's Day, I thought that I could do one more thing that might disguise me as well as prevent me from getting caught by the CIA.  Somehow, it came to me that I could start growing a beard to be less recognizable.  Since I had about a month's time, what better day than New Year's Day to start?  As long as I'm not a food handler, I thought I should be all right.  Just to cross check, I let Chief Cook Andersen know what my plan was, and he said it was fine, as long as I kept it neatly trimmed.

 

* * * * * * *

I was still reading _Great Expectations_ whenever I got the chance.  

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	18. January 3, 2011—Day 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vietnam War: period 01 November 1955 - 30 April 1975. 
> 
> Reese's father did four tours = 4 years, with one week to one month State-side R&R between tours. [http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=389x1153176]  
> Let's say John's Dad did tours from 1968-1972 and returned for good in 1973. I'd estimate that John was 4 1/2 - 5 years old when his Dad was killed at the refinery. 
> 
> [I wasn't too far off in my estimate of John's age. According to his statement to Dr. Campbell in s04e14 "Guilty," he was 8 when his dad taught him how to drive the family Oldsmobile. So I would guess that John could have been 8-10 years old when his dad was killed in the refinery fire.]
> 
> Normal tour of duty during the Vietnam War: 12 months:  
> http://www.historynet.com/vietnam-war-the-individual-rotation-policy.htm 
> 
> Summer Apples, by Wanderer – http://archiveofourown.org/works/544197 [John meets Jessica for the first time in the Puyallup, WA apple orchard.]
> 
> Army Criminal History Waivers - http://usmilitary.about.com/od/armyjoin/a/criminal.-u59.htm 
> 
> 1st SFG: 1st Special Forces Group - headquartered at Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington [located 9.1 miles south-southwest of Tacoma, WA]. John more than likely was stationed at this base when he dated Jessica before they went on their holiday in Mexico that September, 2001.

**January 3, 2011—Day 32**

 

This morning, I woke up remembering Mom and Dad.  It'd been a long time since I'd dreamed about them. Maybe my reminiscing, thinking about them, got its start because I'd been reading Dickens' _Great Expectations_ the last few nights.  Though I was in my late teens when Mom died, I'd felt orphaned like Pip, with both parents gone.  I empathized with Pip and knew how it felt to be lost without a mom and dad, and the resulting confusion about whether or not to trust life.  Pip's story just pulled me in.  The book was hard to put down, even though I knew I needed to get some sleep for the next day's work.

 

* * * * * * *

I was almost five [9 years old?] when Dad came back from Vietnam in 1973.  Our family had moved to Colorado Springs when he was stationed at the Army base there, and we lived there during the time he was deployed with the Rangers for the four tours he did in ‘Nam.  He didn't want to tell us much about what happened over there.  And looking back, I don't recall him behaving as if he was dealing with PTSD, either.  Then again, it was early on after his return.

 

Right after he was Honorably Discharged, Dad was able to find work at the local refinery.  He was happy for this opportunity for good money, because he now had a family of five to take care of.  

 

Two months later, he was killed in a freak refinery fire.  Two Months after he'd returned safely from 'Nam.  _Two months_!  Only two fuckin’ months!  Shit!

 

I remember going to the funeral with Mom and my two younger sisters.  But I kept waiting, dreaming that Dad was going to come home.  I just knew that he was still alive.  See, he’d been so badly burned, that they had to keep the casket closed for the funeral service.  I didn’t realize that he was in that long box at the front of the church.  I didn't understand that he was gone forever.  I intensely believed for the longest time that I’d see my Daddy again.  He'd always come back to us before when he'd been sent overseas.

 

Mom was crying all the time.  My sisters and I—we didn’t know what to do—we were so young and little.  Soon after, Mom moved us back to Puyallup, in Washington State, to be closer to her family.  Her folks had a small farm there.  But even though her parents were close by, Mom was never the same. 

 

It wasn't until a month or so had gone by, when Mom was packing up everything to move all of us to Puyallup that I started to get an inkling—to notice that maybe Mom was right, Dad _wasn't_ coming back.  While Mommy was packing boxes, I would yell at her to stop, because we had to wait for Daddy.  She and I would get into any number of screaming matches that always ended up with me running to my room, slamming the door and throwing myself on my bed, punching the pillow, screaming, crying, and sobbing until, many times, I'd cried myself to sleep.

 

Mom wasn't much better.  Often, she'd be sobbing so hard we could hear her all over the house.  We'd all be crying, Mom, my sisters and I.  Moving was hard enough as it was, and my expectation that Dad was still coming home didn't make the process any easier.  I didn't want to leave.  I was still waiting for Dad to come home like he always had.

 

As my sisters and I got older, we ended up spending more time with our grandparents on their Puyallup farm.  I learned how to run the different pieces of farm equipment.  Gradually, I grew really strong, maneuvering bales of hay and all of the rest of the work that came with farming. 

 

Mom tried to hold it all together, but she never quite left her grief and sadness behind after Dad’s death.  She'd even hung on to his army uniforms, clothes, and underwear, refusing to give them away.  The one bright spot was, we were still together as a family.

 

I graduated near the top of my class in high school.  School and sports were a refuge for me from the pervasive sense of hopelessness at home.  Then, two months after my graduation, Mom died from breast cancer.  She’d never told her parents or my sisters and me that she was dying.  She never showed any pain, she just slipped away one morning, never waking up.  I was the one who found her.  She looked like she was still asleep in her bed.  Not only had Dad never come back, now Mom was gone, too.  My sisters and I had no idea what to do next.  I cried while I phoned Grandma, and even though she was stunned, she stepped in to help.  But she wasn’t ready for the shock of her daughter's, our Mom's death. 

 

After Mom's passing, I felt like I was drifting through my life, even more so than after Dad's death when I was so much younger.  My plans were to start college that fall, but I had no real ambition after Mom's passing pulled the emotional rug out from under me.  I knew then for sure, that I couldn't trust anything life would bring me.  I knew that everyone I ever loved, or who ever loved me, would just leave me or be taken away.  I knew I couldn't trust God, or whoever it was who thought it controlled the Universe.  After those experiences of Mom and Dad dying, I knew bone deep, that it was guaranteed that if there was any love at all linking me to a person, then that person would abandon me.  If I loved any one, ultimately I'd always be left alone and forgotten.

 

My sisters were living with Grandma, since our grandparents decided to sell the house where we'd lived, where I'd grown up.  At least my sisters had a familiar, loving, safe place to stay through their high school years.

 

I ended up going to Seattle Pacific University on full scholarship. There I was reacquainted with Jessica in biology class.  I was just taking general requirements my freshman year, and this lovely person with blond hair and soft brown eyes was assigned to be my lab partner.   I'd met her once before, shortly after Mom died.  I was picking apples in a local orchard, when Jess walked up to me the end of that summer after high school.  She was so intelligent, a gentle soul, whose smiles won me over.  I wasn't interested in falling in love.  But she happened.  Even though at first I worked to avoid it, I fell for her—hard.

 

We were both nineteen when we first made love.  It was the summer after our college freshman year.  We gave ourselves to each other, virgins, an ultimate gift.  To me, it was like having an out of body experience, being held, kissed and loved by someone so tender, open hearted and truly beautiful.  Beautiful from the inside out.  Jess had this light shining out of her.  Our lovemaking was made an even more special experience for both of us, because we were under the sky, in a secret place in the forest.  There was a special glen we'd discovered together, with dappled sunshine on a soft green lawn.  A rare place to find in the forests there. 

 

Jess is a rare gem. She is someone of such rare sweetness; I can't imagine living the rest of my life without her, while at the same time, down deep I worried that she, too, would discover that by myself I'm not enough, that I'm unlovable and just all of a sudden she would leave me.

 

We both got our bachelor's diplomas in 1990.  I got a BS in Mechanical Engineering; Jess got her BS as a Registered Nurse.  I started working at Boeing as a newly-minted engineer, and Jess found work in a local hospital in Tacoma.  We both began saving money to put toward a house before we got married.  We'd been thinking about planning a wedding in the next couple of years and starting a family.  I was more than eager to have a life with Jess and kids.  I knew all our kids would be cute and smart.

 

But instead, I ended up getting arrested by the Seattle police for breaking this guy's arm and nose.  The arresting officer said that I could have killed the guy I assaulted.  This particular drunken sonofabitch'd been taunting me all evening, while my buddies and I were having pizza and beer at our favorite pizza hangout near the University.  I'm not usually hot headed, but there was something about this particular asshole that got my goat.  So I slugged him and more.

 

I was upset and concerned, since I didn't know what really set me off in that bar fight.  I didn't know if I would or could suddenly fly into a rage when I was with Jess.  Would I all of a sudden lash out and hurt her?  I was worried about what was really going on inside me.  I tried to sort it all out, but it felt like I kept running into a brick wall when it came to understanding my feelings.

 

When I went before the presiding judge after my arrest, he gave me a choice between joining the Army and having nothing on my record, not even that arrest, or spending a long time in jail.  Although I had to apply for a waiver, since there was an arrest on my record, the Army approved my waiver request.

 

January 15, 1993, I enlisted in the US Army at Ft. Lewis, WA.  I was twenty-four years old.  Christ!  That was eighteen years ago.

 

Before I enlisted, I made sure to tell Jess, who was both relieved and heartbroken.  Relieved that I wouldn't have to go to jail, and heartbroken because now we wouldn't be together.  We promised each other that we would stay in touch as best we could.  Thank goodness for email. 

 

I thought, what if Jess and I got married before I went to boot camp?  I was rolling different scenarios through my head.  Then, what if I was killed while on tour overseas?  After seeing what my Dad's death did to Mom, I sure as hell didn't wish that horrible grief on my Jessica.  I put our wedding and other plans on hold indefinitely.  Jess had no idea about my inner decision to protect her from my possible death while I was in the service.

 

In the end, I just knew deep down that even if I survived my tours in the Army, so many things could happen.  I'd seen some of those who'd served in either the Special Forces or regular military come back and fall into PTSD and abuse their families and spouses.  I didn't want that to happen to Jess.  Not on my watch. 

 

Or worse yet, I feared Jess would wake up one day, turn around and leave me, just like everyone else who really meant something to me had when they'd died.  I just knew deep inside that she would learn that I was never good enough for her.  She'd come to realize all my profound flaws, and finally know that I didn't deserve her.  Maybe I felt that not only did I not deserve her wonderful love, but I knew, in the core of my being, that nothing was certain.  No matter how much I cared and loved Jess, that she would finally discover that I wasn't this wonderful, loving person she thought I was. 

 

Ultimately, I felt that it was easier for me to push her away, to keep her safe from me, no matter how deeply we loved each other.  No matter our earlier plans to get married.

 

* * * * * * *

Oh, my God.  Today, I'm missing Jess so badly.  Maybe I was wrong all those years ago.  I was wrong to push her away.  I was wrong in my own fear that while in Delta, I'd become this monster of military violence.  I was wrong that I didn't step up and accept her sweet love.  Maybe I could hope that her love would ultimately heal me from everything Stanton and Snow had done to fuck me up and turn me into what I knew was an incurable assassin while I was with the Agency? 

 

Fuck!  I am so confused.  My mind is in turmoil.  The only thing I know is how much I love Jess.  How much I've always loved her.  And I reminded myself that I know how much she truly loves me.  How can I get myself out of this mental bullshit trap of believing that I'm not enough?  That I'm a monster.  That there is no way I can be healed?  That I don't deserve love?

 

* * * * * * *

It'd been a while since I'd had any memorable dreams.   I hadn't had any big dreams since I'd started this voyage.   All of my introspective recollections about my family and Jess must have stimulated my dream later that night.  That and all my self-examination about my deserving love or not. 

 

Dad had been out of my life for so many years.  I was surprised to wake up to find myself at our family's old place in Colorado Springs.  I was standing in the living room, and there was Dad, wearing Levi's blue jeans and a blue chambray shirt with the long sleeves rolled up.  He was sitting in his favorite brown recliner chair in front of the TV, drinking a bottle of Miller beer, his favorite.   I knew I was dreaming, because I was in this dream as an adult.  I hadn't realized how handsome he was, lean, dark hair and dark blue eyes.  When I was a little kid, he was just "my Daddy."  I was surprised because now I see that in the present, I'm older now than the age he was before he was killed in the refinery accident.  I stood there looking at him.  My chest ached with longing, my eyes were filled with tears and it was hard to breathe.

 

When he stood up, I saw that he was maybe an inch or so taller than I am now.  He strode over and we hugged, this intense, gripping embrace.  "I've missed you so much, Dad."  We both started crying and hugging even more.  He took a step back with his hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down, with an approving grin. 

 

"Hey, Son.  I'm so proud of you.  You may not know it, but I and other spirit-allies helped you and your buddies while you were on your tours with Delta Force.  I know how successful you were with SFOD-D; you are such a good soldier.  I am so proud that you've followed in my footsteps in Special Forces.  Be assured that I know all about the darkness and wet work you went through with Stanton, Snow and the CIA.

 

"You know, I've watched over you your whole life.  Maybe you could say I'm one of your guardian angels."

 

He smiled as he said that, his eyes shone with joy and humor, crinkling at the corners.  It was almost like I was looking in a mirror.  My eyes filled with tears again, and the inside of my nose burned.

 

"I know how hard you worked to be a good son for Mom after I was gone, and how you helped keep the family together, even though you were just a little boy.  You need to know how deeply I still love you, John, no matter what."

 

Then, Mom walked through the door that led to the kitchen.  She was beautiful, too—young, tall and slim, wearing a flowery light green dress.  Her shoulder length blond hair and green eyes shone with an angelic light.  She took me by the shoulders and kissed me on the cheek, and hugged me.  Holding my hand, she stepped over to Dad and took his hand.

"You have lived your life well, John, including those tests of darkness.  Remember how much we love you.  Remember how much Jess loves you.  You have such an open, loving heart.  Remember that your truest, deepest innermost strengths are your kindness, empathy and compassion.  These loving parts of you are your connection to true wisdom and maybe even enlightenment."

 

I started to sob, gut-wrenching cries, and Mom and Dad enfolded me with their arms, encircling me.  Even as the dream faded, I still felt enveloped and soothed by their warmth and love.   

 

I had no idea that they are part of the company of guardian angels who surround me constantly.  Even though I'm not a religious person, I realized that from what they've told me in my dream, they, for all intents and purposes, have somehow protected me all my adult life.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	19. January 4, 2011—Day 33

**January 4, 2011—Day 33**

After yesterday's dream about Mom and Dad, and how they told me they have been my Guardian Angels for most of my life, I realized that in a way, they've been my hidden benefactors.  Much like the convict Magwitch, whom Pip befriended in the novel _Great Expectations_ that I was reading during that voyage.  I guess you can never tell when an act of kindness, or love freely offered will return to you.  And sometimes it comes back in a form that you or I would not immediately recognize.  There on out, I wanted to be sure to take more than a second look at the protection and opportunities I'd been given, and to be sure to thank Kwan Yin as well.  I wanted to be sure that I remembered that lesson.   I wanted to be sure to say "thank you" for all the second chances I'd receive in my life.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question—Since you were an officer in the Rangers during the Vietnam War, can you tell me how long it takes for an applicant in the army to be accepted into SFG. 
> 
> Answer—If someone enlists/signs up for the Army, he must first go thru 8 weeks of basic training—learning to march, learning to shoot, extensive physical training, etc. After graduation from basic training he then goes thru from 8 weeks to 4 months of AIT—advanced individual training. If he does very well in basic training & AIT and scores high on the battery of tests that everyone takes upon entering the Army, at that point he can ask his commanding officer if he could apply for Special Forces training. So your answer is from 16 weeks to 24 weeks—Charles F. Payne [25Aug2014] 
> 
> Sure, happy to help. 
> 
> Of course you know that the SF guys are Army and SEALS are Navy. For the Air Force the special guys are HALO jumpers: high altitude, low opening. For the Marine Corps their specialty combat guys are called Force Recon and for the Coast Guard it is the Ocean Jumpers —the guys that jump into the Bering Straits to rescue 'man overboard' guys from fishing vessels, etc. I was an Army Ranger. Now then, you asked specifically how long it takes to be accepted. After acceptance then you go thru the Ranger School, the SF school, SEAL school, etc. Ranger school is 8 weeks long and incredibly arduous. 2 weeks at Fort Benning, GA for sniper training, map reading, demolitions training. Then 3 weeks in north GA based in Dahlonega, GA for the mountain training phase. Then 3 weeks in the swamps of north FL in the panhandle for swamp/jungle training. All of the different service groups I mentioned are highly talented. Just different specialties is all. —Charles F. Payne [25Aug2014]. My comment: "Talent is 99% sweat and work."
> 
>  
> 
> Army Special Forces http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Forces_(United_States_Army) 
> 
> Army Special Forces Training—  
> http://www.military.com/special-operations/army-special-forces-training.html
> 
> After finding information on Special Forces Training from: The Sameen Shaw Handbook (1st Ed.)  
> DEM2, digifreaks, grimorie, Hagar, lookninjas, offkilter http://archiveofourown.org/works/1789951/chapters/3836464 I need to add a disclaimer, that John's experience in training for Special Forces may have had a much different timeline than I've proposed in this story. The military makes changes in training and other procedures, some at a glacial pace, but I would guess there have been many updates and changes since the Vietnam War era.


	20. January 5, 2011—Day 34

**January 5, 2011—Day 34**

Joining the Army turned out to be the best thing I'd ever done.  Going to boot camp got me out of my emotional funk from losing Mom and from leaving Jess.  Once again, like college, I had something to do, goals to aim for.  Right after enlisting, they sent me to Fort Benning, GA.  I enjoyed the routine and structure, and I was eager to excel and be the best soldier I could be.  Every week, they challenged me, and I succeeded.  All those times Grandpa and I went hunting in the fall paid off.  My rifle skills and marksmanship scores were first class.  My aptitude test scores were in the top 5 percent.  I loved the Army life.  It was a perfect fit.  I was a perfect fit.

 

Our drill instructor suggested that I speak with our CO [Commanding Officer] for a recommendation to apply for Special Forces.  The first step was to go into Infantry School for my AIT [Advanced Individual Training].  After that, it was Ft. Bragg, NC for the first step into SFG—Army Airborne School.  Then, it was totally Special Forces-focused training.  My MOS [Military Occupational Specialty] was finalized as 18B—SF Weapons Sergeant.   And once I'd been assigned to an SFOD-A team [Special Forces Operational Detachment-Alpha], I was cross trained, as were all of us, in the other specialties of our group, including medical, so we could step in and cover if any one of the twelve of us on the team were incapacitated in some way.  I enjoyed the medical training component of Special Forces.  I discovered I have a natural aptitude for human anatomy and physiology.  Those skills were helpful in more than just assisting my teammates when they were injured.  Later, I found my medical knowledge to be a dubious asset when I was with the CIA, considering all the assassination details, cleanups and body disposals that I was responsible for. 

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	21. January 7, 2011—Day 36

**January 7, 2011—Day 36**

 

Captain Ross wanted to see how many of the total crew had already crossed the International Date Line on previous voyages.  Turns out that there were three of us who hadn't.  Suddenly, I noticed the rest of the crew all had sly looks on their faces except for us three.  I could tell that they were probably plotting something outrageous and silly when they told us that we were excluded from their "planning meeting."  I had heard about ceremonies that happened to crew members on ships crossing the Equator, but I'd forgotten that there could be yet another such initiation with a different sort of "line" on the Earth's surface.

 

All day, wherever I'd show up, if there were little knots of crewmen talking, they would get quiet all of a sudden, waiting for me to leave.  In the galley, an unusually large stockpot showed up on the back burners of one of the ranges.  I watched as all the Galley Crew threw potato peels, carrot tops and other stuff that was usually consigned to the garbage, into that pot.   I later learned that Chief Cook Andersen saved this specific pan just for such an occasion.   I had my suspicions they were up to no good.  I didn't need my intuition to tell me that mischief was afoot.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	22. January 8, 2011—Day 37

**January 8, 2011—Day 37**

The ship was about half a day's time out before we crossed the International Date Line.  Ross and the rest of the crew who could leave their posts had the three of us in the basketball court area just forward of the Bridge. They had concocted crazy outfits from stuff scavenged from the crew's quarters and around the ship.  

 

We three found ourselves at the mercy of everyone on board.  Captain Ross was King Neptune, Chief Officer Henry Martel was Davy Jones, and Chief Cook Andersen was dressed up in drag as Calypso, the oceanic Sea Nymph-Goddess, with a stringy mop head for a wig, and some kind of makeshift dress made with plastic trash bags duct taped together. 

 

They smeared us three "Newts" with a mixture of Crisco and paprika powder.  Proceeding to ritually "torture" us, the crew first poured the warm contents of the "garbage stew" pot over our heads.  Then, they sprayed us with the deck fire hose, flushing the cooked vegetation off our bodies with salt water.  The shortening and paprika stayed stuck to our skins, though.  The ceremony, if you wanted to call it that, continued with two of us measuring the length of the deck with the shortest person on our Newt team.  Finally we were released to scrape the grainy orange paste of Crisco from our bodies, and shower off the crusting salt crystals.   The three of us were made members of the august body of the _Sacred Order of the Golden Dragon_ just after the ship crossed the Date Line from Saturday, back into Friday, January 7th.

 

I already felt more pompous, high and mighty since I'd received that certificate. Yeah, just like my usual self.  Nah...not so much.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	23. January 10, 2011—Day 39

**January 10, 2011—Day 39**

Our voyage is about one-third complete.  Although my strategy for returning Stateside has kept me safe from being captured so far, I wish this slow boat from China would hurry the fuck up. 

 

If Stanton could see me now.  Well, if she could, she'd know that I salute her daily with my middle finger.  "We clean up our own messes..."  Well, clean this up, bitch!  I'd just like to tell her,  "See my finger?  Uh-huh...But don't take it personally, Kara."

 

Only thirty days left before we would arrive in Charleston, SC if everything went according to plan.  We'd be approaching the Panama Canal in a few days.  I was getting closer to finally getting to Jess, although the waiting was irritating as fuck.

 

I'd been getting along well with everyone on the Galley Crew.  We'd settled into a cooperative routine that sometimes Chief Cook Andersen broke up with impromptu ethnic-style meals where we shared the different cuisines from our home countries.  We all appreciated that, including the crew and engineers who actually ran the ship.  It brought all of us closer together, minimizing whatever disparities there might have been among everyone.  We all relied on each other's expertise to keep the voyage safe and healthy.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	24. January 13, 2010—Day 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further mention of rape, non-con and dub-con sexual activity--Stanton shows up again. Passing mention of gay sex.

**January 13, 2014—Day 42**

Early this morning, I jolted awake.  I felt someone touch my cock in the darkness.  For some reason, my room felt cold, as though I was lying in a walk-in refrigerator.  In my mind, I heard Kara's voice, "Hi Lover.  Miss me?  You can't get rid of me that easily, just by thinking I'm dead."  My skin crawled, my dick and balls shrank closer to my body with just the thought that it could be possible that she would somehow be in my room. 

* * * * * * *

I remembered that op with Stanton when we were in Paris, April 2009.  I remembered it too well.  That was when Stanton started to rape me.  She raped me for months.

 

I'd just completed taking out a couple of alleged spies—I shot them in that bistro.  After Stanton and I'd returned to our hotel room, I just wanted to get everything cleaned, and be done as fast as possible with the whole fuckin' mess.   While Kara burned a photo of the two victims I'd just shot, I was busy as I wiped things down with bleach, "cleaning" our hotel room.  Stanton mentioned in that grating voice of hers, "Just got intel on our next gig...  Seems like you could use some leave."  So, she'd noticed how tense and agitated I was after what I'd done in the bistro, and how annoyed I looked as I was wiping everything down.

 

"We could be a few days late.  April in Paris."  She had her tongue in her cheek as she gave me a "hubba-hubba" look, trying her best to seduce me.  "What do you say?"  I wanted nothing to do with any of her shit.  In fact, I thought I had a look of deep disgust on my face that I couldn't hide.

 

I knew she was trying her best to convince me that she is irresistible, that it's about romance, but my idea of April in Paris includes Jess, not Kara.  No fuckin' way would I want to spend any more time, romantic or otherwise, with Stanton.  The thought crossed my mind—I was about ready to throw the gallon bottle of bleach at her.  "I'm fine."  My short answer was the best I could do right then.

 

She punched me in the throat with a left cross, pushed me up against the wall and pointed her SIG at my jaw. 

 

"Time to decide."  She was beyond pissed off.  "What do you want to be?  The boy scout or the killer?  'Cause I'm sick of working with both.  Nobody made you do this.  You chose this life, remember?  But if this isn't you, if you want to be a _nice_ man with a _nice_ job, all you have to do is ask."  She said all this with her gun pointed at me.

 

Yeah, those code words, "All you have to do is ask."  Her eyes went dead.  That phrase meant she'd kill me right then.  She'd have no regrets, no questions asked.  Once I asked to go, to leave the agency, my death at her hands was the certain outcome.  Besides that, since she and Snow knew about Jessica, after they'd surreptitiously photographed our unintentional meeting at that airport back in February 2006, I was concerned that maybe they could and would track her down and murder Jess as well, just to cover their tracks, tie up my loose ends.  

 

I grabbed her and threw her against the opposite wall, my right hand at her throat.  Now _she_ looked scared.  I gave her my best "killer face," snarled my best answer, "I love my work," as I slammed her into the wall to make her shut the fuck up.  Next thing I noticed was, our faces were in kissing distance.  She grabbed me by my neck, started kissing me, and...  and...  then the rapes began.

 

She didn't stop with conventional intercourse.  One time she raped me anally with her hand gun—with no lube, just to make a point—she was in charge.  I was thankful I wasn't permanently injured.  Other times, if I couldn't get it up, she'd finger me up the butt, massaging my prostate, so I had no choice other than she would get the erection she wanted from me. 

 

Previously, I'd enjoyed anal sex and finger play once in a while.  Sometimes a few of my SF team mates and I would have a circle jerk.  Just among friends, best buddies.  Although "don't ask, don't tell" was the rule when I was back in Special Forces, there were some opportunities for me to have sexual relationships with men, with someone I really liked when there was mutual attraction between us.  Both of us needed to be careful, that was all.  I made sure that I wasn't in uniform when I met with my friends.  

 

Stanton's idea of sex was it had to be beyond kinky.  I knew when I was penetrated by her firearm, that I had to rely on all of my Special Forces training to survive.  I kept thinking to myself, "I can take any fucking thing you dish out, Stanton, and I _will,_  in order to stay alive."

* * * * * * *

I thought I would be safe, there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  I thought I was finished with Stanton's constant criticism of my skills, ethics and professionalism.  She always attacked what I valued most.

 

After the Ordos missile strike, I thought I was done with Stanton and her predatory sexuality.  She was constantly threatening my life in exchange for sex.  I thought I was done with her raping me, forcing me to have sex with her even though she knew how much I loathed her.  Every time she raped me, I saw the whole thing as if I was watching from outside my body.  Every time she raped me I thought, "This can't be happening to me." 

 

Somewhere in the darkness of my room I heard Stanton say, "Remember that time in Paris, Lover?"  

 

My stomach clenched and cramped.  I became aware of all the feelings I'd stuffed down.  All my fear, shame and rage I'd blocked as she raped me.  Waves of pain surged inside of me, gathering in my gut, ready to tear me apart.  Finally everything broke loose, churning inside me.

 

I felt feverish, my skin was suddenly hot, my head swimming, my ears ringing. 

 

I fell out of bed, light headed and disoriented.  I tried to run to the head, to make it before I puked on the floor.  I ended up crawling there just in time to throw up repeatedly, until my stomach was empty—until I was only retching bile—from the bottom of my guts.  Every time I thought of all those months I'd watched my body betray itself.  Every time I thought of Stanton handling my genitals and watching in horror as my penis became erect—even when I didn't want to be aroused.  Every time I thought of her kissing me, her forcing me to go down on her. Every time I thought of her fingers and other things, penetrating me anally—all those months that I stuffed down my revulsion—I just heaved and heaved.  I was appalled and disgusted as I thought back to my past situation, even though everything I had done was in order to survive Stanton, to save my life.  I passed out on the floor.

 

Finally, the cold floor woke me up.  I was spent.  I had no idea what to do next or the energy to do it with.  Seeing the shower, I dragged myself in, shut the door, turned the shower on as hot as I could take it and let it run over my head and down my body, rinsing my mouth, flushing my sweat and vomit down the drain.  I wondered when I'd be done dealing with the emotional and physical damage Stanton and all her months of rape had done to me.  I wondered when she'd stop following me—even in my mind.  When would this bullshit torture Stanton had perpetrated on me just go the fuck away and let me alone?  When would I start to heal from all the shit she'd forced on me? 

 

When the shower started to run cold, I struggled to turn it off.  I took off my soaked t-shirt and briefs and left them lying in the shower.  I wrapped a towel around myself and just managed to make it back to fall into bed.  I wasn't afraid to fall asleep.  I knew I was so wiped out and had gone through such an emotional and physical wringer as I faced my realization of the hell Stanton had been dishing out to me, the hell I'd managed through my innermost strength to survive, there was no way Kara's nightmares could reach me for the rest of the night.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

 


	25. January 20, 2011—Day 49

**January 20, 2011—Day 49**

I was feeling impatient and increasingly distressed.  The ship's routine and our isolation were getting to me.  The Galley Crew and I started to play poker for toothpick stakes.  You would know the boredom was bad when we stooped to cheap penny ante gambling, card playing while we knowingly cheated each other at poker just to amuse ourselves.  Although we all knew what we were getting into at the beginning of the voyage, all of us wanted to see some terra firma soon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	26. January 24, 2011—Day 53

**January 24, 2011—Day 53**

We were getting closer to the Panama Canal. 

 

I was getting closer to New Rochelle and Jessica.  I was lying in my bed waiting to fall asleep, looking at the ceiling, thinking about Jess and Peter. 

 

What options would I have to take care of my sweetheart and deal with this Peter, who seemed to have turned into some kind of abusive asshole?  I figured that Jess wouldn't have called me that time (although she had no idea where I was) and then tell me she needed a friend to talk to, all the while trying to keep from crying, unless she was experiencing some serious torment.  There was so much distress and sadness in her voice.

 

I knew that when I somehow stumbled on Peter at that upscale bar during that time I was in "enemy territory"—performing CIA ops illegally in New York—by first impressions, he seemed to be a level headed guy.  And yet, when Jess called me while I was in Morocco—what was it?  53 days ago?  

 

Shit!  She sounded so upset.  

 

From how she said it, she hadn't called anyone else—Jess called me!

 

One of the strategies abusive spouses use is to gradually isolate their mate from their friends and then their family. And it doesn't have to be physical abuse; psychological abuse is even more demoralizing and wounding.  When Jess repeated my words back to me, the words I told her at that airport.  That "in the end we're all alone."  Hearing my own words echoed back to me—that by itself sent a spear of ice down my spine.  

 

I know what that's like to feel isolated.

 

I was there my whole tour with Stanton.

 

The first tactic that came to mind was to get Jess outta there, away from this Peter guy, so she was in a safe place.  I needed to protect her, no matter what.  The best and easiest way to do this was for me to meet with Jess at the hospital where she worked.  That way, I ruled out an immediate confrontation with Peter. 

 

But what if Jess didn't want to leave?  I'd heard that many victims who've been abused often refuse to leave their abuser.  What then?  I didn't want to hurt her.  In that situation, I didn't want end up behaving as abusively as Jess's husband.  If I tried to force her away from Peter, that wasn't going to really help her or me.  So that ruled out kidnapping or drugging her.  How could I convince her to leave Peter and what if I failed?  Shit.  

 

What is the most loving thing for me to do to really help Jess?

 

I guessed what could've happened next would depend on what I learned directly from Jess, about how he'd treated her.  I still loved and cared for her even though she was married.  All those years ago I thought that it was in her best interest that she marry someone who deserved her, who would take care of her, and be there for her, better than I could.  Or so I thought at the time.

 

Was my sweetheart really in danger? 

 

I'm really good at interrogation...   Peter'd learn first hand how skilled I am.  I'd learned some unique, specialized interrogation techniques from the CIA, some I don't even want admit to myself that I know how to use.  Some techniques that are really torture.

 

I was lying there in my bed on _The Majestic_ , thinking of Peter and Jess and her situation, planning my options in advance.

 

I really had no idea anything about who this man is, and how formidable an opponent he is against someone as skilled as I am.  And plans only go so far.  I knew that from long experience.  

 

Sometimes no plan is the best plan.  And I'd just do whatever it took to help her.  Whatever Jess needed, I'd do it. 

 

I love Jess; I want to protect and help her the best way I can.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***


	27. January 31, 2011—Day 60

**January 31, 2011—Day 60**

This particular day _The Majestic_  was ready to go through the Panama Canal.  Captain Ross had made reservations a week earlier via radio, so the we'd be met by the Panama Canal Authority Pilot to drive the ship through the canal.  From what Ross told us, the ship would go under its own power, with knowledgeable guidance by the PCA Pilot and directional cables from the "mules"—tractor locomotives with cables roped to the ship to control her position within the locks. He mentioned that our ship usually took 10 hours' transit time from the Pacific to the Atlantic.

 

Ross suggested that the Galley Crew set up the charcoal grills on the basketball court area so any crew members who weren't on duty could have a barbecue-picnic while we did some sightseeing from the deck on our way through the Canal.  The ship made it to the canal entrance just before dawn.  We'd had daylight in our favor to see the Canal in all its glory.  Luckily, Chief Cook Andersen knew that for our Captain a special barbecue was SOP for the ship's passage through the Canal.  Andersen had had the cooks prepare marinated chicken, steaks, potato salad, chicken satay and vegetables for grilling the night before.  The rest of the Galley Crew and I dragged folding tables and chairs topside and planned to have the food cooked in cycles so everyone got a chance to relax when they had time.  I helped prepare coffee, iced tea, ice water and lemonade for everyone to drink.  Too bad Maersk ran a dry company.  As far as I was concerned, the only thing missing at the picnic was some good, cold beer.

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***


	28. February 1, 2011—Day 61

**February**   **1, 2011 **—** Day 61**

 _The Majestic_  was ready to go through the Panama Canal.  The Captain had made reservations the week before via radio for the Panama Canal Authority pilot that would drive the ship through the canal would meet us. From what the Captain had told us, the ship would go under its own power, with knowledgeable guidance by the pilot and directional cables from the "mules" **—** eight locomotives with cables roped to the ship to control her position within the locks. He mentioned that our ship usually took 10 hours' transit time from Pacific to Atlantic.

The Captain suggested that the Galley Crew set up the charcoal grills on the basketball court area so any crew members who weren't on duty could have a barbecue-picnic while we did some sightseeing on our way through the Canal. The ship made it to the canal entrance just before dawn, so we had daylight in our favor to see the Canal in all its glory. Luckily, the Chief Cook knew that for our Captain, a special barbecue was SOP for the ship's passage through the Canal, and had had the cooks prepare marinated chicken, steaks, potato salad, chicken satay and vegetables for grilling the night before. 

We dragged folding tables and chairs to the deck and had the food cooked in cycles so everyone got a chance to relax when they had time. I helped prepare coffee, iced tea, ice water and lemonade for everyone to drink. Too bad there was zero tolerance for alcohol.  As far as I was concerned, the only thing missing at the picnic was some good, cold beer.

 

* * * * * * *

 _The Majestic_ entered the Pacific side of the Canal around 06:00 hours, just before dawn.  We were the first ship of the day to head east through the Canal to the Atlantic.  After we went under the Bridge of the Americas, the Canal crew worked with the ship's crew to get lines from the ship connected to the eight guide mules at the Miraflores Locks. This would prevent the ship from ramming the lock gates as well as shifting laterally within the lock, so it could proceed forward.  I was taking photos of those operations and the surrounding scenery with the burner phone so I could show Jess.  The landscape was green, quite a contrast to my eyes after days of watching nothing but blue water, the sky and the ship's wake.  Most of us looked longingly at the land, but it was out of reach. 

 

The water filled the lock, raising the ship to float to the next lock. Miraflores Locks has a two lock system, that raised the ship fifty four feet higher than the Pacific Ocean.  Between them was Lake Miraflores.  The Canal recycled the water from that lake to fill and refill the locks for each passing ship.

 

After crossing that lake, the next lock system was Pedro Miguel Locks. They raised the ship one last time, adding thirty one more feet so we could sail through the Culebra Cut, crossing the Continental Divide on our way to Gatún Lake.   We sailed under the modern-looking Centennial Bridge, the newest bridge crossing the Canal and then into the Culebra.   The Cut looked like a narrow channel to all of us, after days on the open ocean. The mountainous terrain, covered with lush green rainforest, was close by as our ship moved through the man-made Cut.  The ship's Steersman and the PAC Pilot both carefully navigated our way through to Gatún Lake.

Even though Gatún Lake is large, _The Majestic_ ended up joining a disjointed queue with a few other cruise and container ships that had not been able to enter the locks to go through to the Atlantic locks the day before.  As we waited, the crew was able to stop some of their work and join in the barbeque picnic.  Captain Ross made sure that the PAC Pilot was included in the ship's hospitality.  

Finally, almost at noon, it was our turn to enter the Gatún Locks to complete the ship's journey to the Atlantic.  Once again, our ship was lashed to the eight Canal mules.  I could see activity to the north of the locks where construction was under way for the expansion of the Canal. The nearest guess was that the project would be finished by 2014.  As _The Majestic_ went through the Gatún Locks, it was lowered a total of 85 feet to reach the level of the Atlantic.  The ship arrived in the Caribbean around 16:00 hours.  We were met with a view of a crowd of ships waiting their turn to go to the Pacific. 

At the end of our transit of the Canal, Captain Ross handed out certificates he'd printed out to those of us who'd gone through for the first time.  I was now an official member of the _Order of the Ditch._   Well, John Anderson was.  Yeah.  I'm a real 'Son of a Ditch.'

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***


	29. February 2, 2011—Day 62

**February 2, 2011—Day 62**

If those SOG agents from that Alpha Team at Ordos could only see me now.  The Company thinks I'm dead.  Although to tell the truth, I'm glad they botched it.  

 

"We clean up our own mess?"  Shit!  I'm the part of their mess that was able to fuckin' escape, so just try and clean me up now!  Those Company MoFos think they killed me in that missile strike.  

 

If this is what it means to've "bought the farm," it really doesn't match all the bad press written about death and dying.  Guess I should make hay, as they say, and enjoy these immediate benefits from Old MacDonald!  I'm stayin' alive...

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***


	30. February 3, 2014—Day 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of John enjoying gay sex in the past.

**February 3, 2014—Day 63**

I was thinking about all the times I'd visited Charleston.  There was one part of me that wished I had time to stop and have a drink with my Army buddies at some of our favorite beer joints.  

 

I remembered one of our favorite hangouts was the Village Social Club, north of the main part of town, near the Naval base.  Or we'd go downtown to that French bistro, _39 Rue de Jean_ , for their special Croque Monsieur sandwich.  Sometimes one of us would order their Monte Cristo sandwich instead.  The food there was always enjoyable.  

 

And then maybe we'd go over to Dudley's to see when the drag queen show was happening and have a few beers. We'd check out the LGBT action.  If I really wanted sex, I'd go by myself out of uniform and visit Patrick's.  Sure, it had a sleazy reputation, but the beer was cold, and the possible hook ups with guys were private.  

 

Yeah, Charleston, South Carolina,  one of my favorite cities to visit. 

 

But I was dealing with time pressure.  I needed to stay focused on getting to New Rochelle and helping Jess.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***


	31. February 4, 2011—Day 64

**February 4, 2011—Day 64**

Our ship finally docked in the Port of Charleston, SC after we sailed under their new Ravenel Bridge, built just for container ships like _The Majestic._ Finally, after over a month's time on the ship, I was almost on US soil!

 

I helped the Galley Crew set up for the next part of their voyage, storing fresh food and dry storage items we'd taken on board for the next leg of _The Majestic's_ trip.  We collected all the trash and garbage we'd generated during our voyage east and got it ready for disposal onshore.  I made time to visit Captain Ross and thank him for helping me out and taking me on as part of the catering crew, plus helping me with a way to get back home.  Then I visited the Chief Cook Andersen to say goodbye as well and to thank him for giving me a job.  All the crew, both Operational and Galley, shook hands with me and wished me well.

 

I went below decks, policed my quarters, and made sure I had all my personal stuff.  I had my bogus "John Anderson" passport ready to show US Customs when they came to inspect the ship before the crew off-loaded the containers bound for Charleston's port, and before anyone could disembark from the ship to go ashore.

 

The locals told me it was a twelve to thirteen hour drive north to New York City on I-95.  My feelers were out, watching for any surveillance by CIA and other agents who could be looking for me, anticipating that I'd show up.

 

The first thing I did once I was ashore, was to head to the area around the College of Charleston, to find a narrow street where I could steal a car from one of the students to make my way north to New Rochelle.  I managed to find a Toyota Camry near one of the fraternities.  I got in, easily hot-wired the car and discovered that it had an almost full tank of gas.  I drove away without anyone noticing, headed north on I-95.  The time was 1730 hours.

 

* * * * * * *

While on the road, I was considering places to avoid, such as D.C. and Langley, to minimize them having eyes on me or possible capture by my former employers.  Although, I will admit to the twisted thought that crossed my mind **—** to stop at the CIA's headquarters and lob some grenades at their front lawn.  Those Company assholes deserved at least that much. 

 

I stopped at a couple of random rest stops on the way north to steal two more cars along the way.  My goal was to not get apprehended.  I used the cash from the reserves I had on hand for gasoline. 

 

I drove through the night and arrived in New York City around 0700 hours.  

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	32. February 6, 2010—Day 66

**February 6, 2010—Day 66**

I finally arrived in New York City.  Getting rid of the last stolen car in the South Bronx, I did a brief and careful recon to see if there were any of the CIA illegally operating in the borough. 

 

Since I wanted to look the best I could when I saw Jess, I found a barbershop, got a haircut and had my beard neatly trimmed.  I then looked for a shop where I could buy a nice, affordable dark suit and white dress shirt.  Near the barbershop, I was able to locate a cheap, fleabag hotel. 

 

After getting something to eat at a local café, as I was walking back to the hotel, I noticed a middle aged woman who looked homeless.  She had a grocery cart loaded with her belongings.  Her brown hair was uncombed and she was wearing a long, grimy blue cloth coat.  She was getting hassled by someone who behaved like some punk gangster.  That was what really caught my attention.  He kept pulling at her cart, trying to wheel it away.  She was yelling at him to let her alone, and hitting him with a cane or a long stick she'd pulled out of the cart. 

 

I approached the loser from behind.  He turned on me with a knife in his right hand, slicing across the same area on my left abdomen where Stanton had shot me all those weeks ago in Ordos.  The cut wasn't deep, but it was about 3 inches long, right through my shirt, across that tender skin on my torso.  Fuck!  Of all times I wasn't wearing that tactical vest.  Just what I needed—another wound in the same spot.  I wrestled the knife from the asshole, twisted his arm until it almost broke—I grimaced to myself; it would've been a nice spiral fracture.  Then I flattened him down to the sidewalk and made sure he stayed down.  

 

The homeless woman told me she was all right and unharmed.  She thanked me for my help and wheeled her grocery cart away from me down the sidewalk.  I started to walk back towards my hotel room in the other direction, applying pressure with my right hand through my clothing.  My next task to find a drug store for some first aid supplies; maybe I needed stitches.  I'd wait until I got back to my room to take a closer look to see what the damages were.  No way I was going to let this setback delay my visit to see Jess in New Rochelle the next day.

 

* * * * * * *

Little did I know then, the future role this singular homeless woman would play in my life.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


	33. February 7, 2011—Day 67

**February 7, 2011—Day 67**

It was February 7th.  Only five days shy of five years' time, back in February 2006, when I saw Jessica just by chance at that airport.  When I fucked up royally and didn't ask her to wait for me.  When I didn't just walk away from my new job with the CIA and choose life with Jess instead.  When I made the biggest mistake of my life.  

 

But now I was finally going to fix it, like I'd been longing to do for years.  

 

I was on the Bee-Line Bus to New Rochelle from The Bronx.  After landing in Charleston, I'd stolen three cars during my drive up to New York.  But I didn't want a line of stolen vehicles to provide a trail directly to me for the FBI or the CIA to trace, so I'd decided to take a regional bus from the City for the rest of the way. 

 

* * * * * * *

The motion of the bus had me dozing.  Maybe more realistically, I had passed out from yesterday's knife wound.  I came to when one of the kids who had just gotten on board asked me something.  Boys in green and gray baseball uniforms and caps sat opposite me near the back of the bus. 

"Are you OK mister?" 

 

I didn't recall anyone getting on my bus in a while, even though I thought I'd been napping.

 

"What happened to you?" His eyes were aimed at my left gut.

 

I looked down and saw my suit jacket had opened to reveal a large dark red spot where the new knife wound leaked blood around the bandage and then on my white shirt.  Somehow it bled through.  I pulled my jacket closed and buttoned it to keep it that way.

I managed to say, "I think I quit my job."

 

The boys didn't know what to make of me.  They huddled closer together on their side of the bus, anxiously waiting for their stop so they could get away from me.

 

* * * * * * *

Once I'd made it to where Jess worked, I walked in and stood in front of the  _Sound Shore Medical Center_ reception desk.  A nurse-receptionist asked me if I needed some help.  I asked the nurse if Jess still worked there.  

 

"Yes, I'm, uh, looking for someone.  A nurse.  Jessica Arndt.  I'm an old friend.  She might not work here anymore.  She was always talking about moving away."

 

The nurse got this look on her face.  She said to me, "Um—  ...Mmm.  —I'm sorry to have to tell you this.  Jessica died in a car accident.  About two months ago."

 

"She said she would wait."  I was blown away.  I shut down.  I was numb.

 

The nurse behind the desk said, "I'm so sorry.  I think I have her husband's number here if you wanted to reach out," as she was accessing the hospital's personnel directory on her computer.

 

But I didn't hear her.  I turned away and started walking.  The room seemed to have darkened around me, and I felt dead.  All my hopes, my strength, my very breath seemed to drain out of me until I felt completely empty, hollowed out: no thought, no heart, no soul.  Even though I was moving, I felt immobilized.  My head filled with the sound of millions of tiny pebbles, water-falling down on a metal roof.  I could barely walk.  I struggled past a man in a wheelchair as I tried to make my escape.  I barely heard his voice at the end of a roaring stone tunnel as he said, "I'm sorry...  I'm _so_ _sorry_..."

 

* * * * * * *

I walked out of the hospital doors and sat down on a bench at the front of the building.  My head was still reeling as I tried to get a grasp on the news of Jessica's death.  All those past weeks, getting back to New York had been what kept me focused, pushing, moving to get to Jess.  At first I didn't know what to do next.

 

Feeling stunned and helpless, I had no energy to even cry.  People walking on the entry path up to the hospital saw me sitting there and they went out of their way to avoid me.  I must have looked like I felt **—** more than miserable.

 

Then, I remembered Peter.  I was certain that he had something to do with Jess's death.  I finally stood up.  I knew I had to go back inside that distressing place and find out Jess's home address.  I didn't want to, but I knew I had to do this for Jessica.  I steeled my nerve and returned to that reception desk. 

 

There was another nurse-receptionist there, so at least she didn't recognize me from before.  I managed to force myself to talk in as much of a normal voice as I could.  I asked for Jessica's home address, saying that I was a friend and wanted to pay my respects.  After thanking the young woman, I walked out of the hospital.  That man who was sitting in the wheelchair before wasn't in the waiting area this time. 

 

I _never_ wanted to return to that place.  I will forever associate that hospital with death, despair and grief, not healing.

 

I wandered, walking aimlessly around New Rochelle for a while.  Finally my mind kicked itself awake and I formulated a strategy.  I stole a car, hot wired it and drove over to Jess's place.  I decided to spend the night in front of that house, sitting and waiting.  Waiting in cold misery.  I didn't cry.  There was nothing inside of me to cry with.  The only thing driving me now was to find out what had _really_ happened to Jessica.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bee-Line Bus Service:  
> http://transportation.westchestergov.com/bee-line/  
> The hospital is an official stop for the bus line Reese was on.
> 
> Sound Shore Medical Center:  
> located in New Rochelle, NY, where the POI production crew did the actual filming of these scenes. http://www.newrochelletalk.com/content/cbs-tv-show-being-filmed-sound-shore-medical-center


	34. February 8, 2011—Day 68

**February 8, 2011—Day 68**

After I spent an uncomfortable sleepless night parked outside the house where Jess lived, I saw Peter walk out of the house and get into his SUV and leave.  I guessed he was leaving to go to work.  It was around 0800 hours.  I broke into their house by picking the back door lock.  It took me no time at all.

 

I stayed there all day, searching through the house, watching videos of Jess, and surrounding myself with her photos.   During the course of my investigations through Jess's and Peter's documents and belongings, I found her death certificate.  She died on December 7th last year.  That was on Day 6 of my ordeal in China.  Since I was west of the International Date Line, that made it the next day in Beijing—December 8th.  Oh my God...  That was when I woke up from that early morning dream where Jess came to me to say she loved me.  That was exactly when she stood behind me, smiling in the mirror at me as I stood over the bathroom sink.  She was smiling at me as I cried.  She came to say goodbye—to me...

 

Once again, I felt this numbness overtake my mind and body.  I felt anesthetized; all I could do was sit and watch videos of Jess over and over.  The signs of Peter's abusive attitude and behavior were obvious to me, right there recorded on the screen.  I knew that the abuse that Jess suffered started before the beginning of their marriage.    

 

Watching those videos was one way I could pretend she was still with me.  But that was really cold comfort when I faced reality. Through most of my ordeal to get back to her, she was...gone.  I couldn't even say or think the word, "dead."

 

According to my calculations, I was traveling 62 and more days to get back to my sweetheart!  That knowledge slammed into my gut, my heart.  I realized, that I chose to let Corwin, Snow, Stanton and the whole fuckin' CIA, steal those days—those 2 months!—away from me and my Jess.  If only Snow had given me those 24 hours.  I could've saved her.  Feelings of helplessness, rage and bitterness engulfed me.

 

* * * * * * *

In the early evening, when Peter came home, he was surprised to see me there. 

 

He didn't remember who I was.  And I didn't know who I was, either.

 

I was sitting in front of the TV while Peter walked up to me, “Who the hell are you?”

 

“That’s a good question.  Haven’t known the answer for a long time.  I know who I was.  I was the guy who left her behind." 

 

I paused a moment...  "You know why?  The real reason?  Because I thought she deserved someone better than me.  I thought she deserved someone who would look after her.  Be there for her.  I thought she deserved someone like you.  So...I don’t know.  I was hoping you could tell me.“

 

Peter looked confused and afraid.  “Tell you what?”

 

 **"** Who I’m supposed to be now...  Now that she’s gone."

 

I couldn't help it.  Tears filled my eyes.  "See…  When you find that one person who connects you to the world…you become someone different.  Someone better.  When that person is taken from you…what do you become then?"

 

I heard a scraping sound as Peter removed the poker from the fireplace set and tried to hide it behind him, before he raised it up across the front of his body.

 

No, I thought.  Not _this_ again!

 

He had no idea what I could do.  No idea what I'm good at.  No idea that...I was his worst nightmare.

 

I forced myself out of the TV chair and walked doggedly toward him.  It was easy to twist the poker away from him.  He thought he knew how to fight, but he was just a pushover.  My first thought was to strike him across the knees, to immobilize him.  And then, fuckin' torture the shit out of him, make him confess to Jess's murder.  

 

I was about ready to swing the poker back when I heard Jess's voice in my head, "Oh, John!  Stop!  Please...Stop!  You've come so far from what you were before.  All these past weeks, you've been leaving that life behind.  Stop.  Think this through.  Please...  For me."  I heard her say all this in a flash.

 

I wanted to torture and kill Peter.  I wanted to yell, to scream, "Why did you kill Jessica?  How could you even _think_ about abusing her?!"  Instead, in my most cold, threatening voice, I said,  "How did Jessica die?  Did you have anything to do with it?" while I held the poker in striking distance, close to his face.

 

Peter flinched and went white, "No, no...  It was an accident, I swear!  I...I pushed her...shoved her, and somehow th...the back of her...her head hit the granite counter in the kitchen.  Please...Please don't h-h-hurt me!  Sh-sh-she was gone as soon as she fell on the kitchen floor."  This time, he started crying...maybe for real.

 

"So, you admit to pushing Jessica, throwing her so hard that the back of her head struck the stone counter top?"  My anger was starting to pick up steam.  "After watching those videos of you and Jess, I noticed that you were obviously abusing her even from the very beginning.  The psychological abuse is right there on screen, so now I can add physical abuse to your list of violations?"  

 

If you know me, you know the more quiet I get, the more angry I am.

 

By this time, Peter was fidgeting and dancing in place; he wanted to get away from me.  "N...No, I didn't abuse her, I...I loved her."

 

I noticed his use of the past tense. "You may think you loved her, but what I _know_ is you killed her.  Did you call 911 after she fell to the floor?  How did you know she was dead then?"

 

"I guessed she was dead.  I said her name more than once.  I turned her over to see her face, to see if she was breathing, to see if she would come to."

 

That really made me even more furious.  Special Forces Medical officers always taught us that moving an unconscious, injured person is one of the last things you want to do until you can be sure they are stabilized.

 

"So...did you finally call 911?"    Peter knew I was beyond pissed off.

 

"Yeah...  Yeah...  No...  Uh...  No...  I started to..."  I grabbed Peter by his left arm twisting it behind his back in a hammerlock.  I wanted to force the truth out of this fuckin' asshole.  

 

"So you didn't call 911.  What _did_ you do, you goddamned sonofabitch?"  I twisted his arm some more, putting my right knee in the middle of his back, applying pressure just about to the point where I could dislocate his shoulder.  At least he screamed.  

 

"I...I...I...de...decided to carry Jess's body and put her in the passenger seat of the car.  Then, I thought I'd drive around and make it look like she died in an accident.  You know, like I was driving and hit a deer."  He was sniveling, snot running from his nose.  I'd run out of patience with this fucker.

 

"Didn't you know that Jess could have just had a possible concussion?  That she could be bleeding inside her skull?  That she could have still been alive?  And all you wanted to do, you sorry piece of shit, was save your own skin.  You goddamned motherfuckin' asshole."  My voice was even more quiet than when I started the interrogation.  I threw him forcefully to the floor.   I felt like kicking him several times in the kidneys, but I didn't.  

    

I knew how to make him disappear for good.  The killing scene there at the house could be so clean after I got done...  But I remembered what my Mom and Dad had said, that they were my guardian angels, and I felt they were watching me right then.  I couldn't let them down and go back to being that monster I was when I was with the CIA, even though my grief and rage towards Peter urged me to make him suffer; to somehow make up for Jessica's death.  The force of my fury almost drove me to make the last moments of his life a living hell.

 

But after all those hours at their house, I'd collected intel from what he had lying around the house.  I knew that he had some serious shit coming down from loan sharks, Sullivan in particular.  I gathered from the documents I'd found, he should never have been messing with those guys!  They would _burn his ass_.  I didn't have to do anything to this bastard.  Sullivan could do it for me.

 

I grabbed his left arm, the same one I'd twisted before and hauled him up to his feet.  He winced as I expected he would.  "OK, Arndt, tell me how I can reach this Sullivan guy.  I'm going to let _him_ deal with your sorry ass."  

 

Peter pissed himself and went even more pale, if that could have been possible.  He looked so scared that I thought maybe he was going to pass out.  He was a definite flight risk, ready to jump in his vehicle and leave the house, so I took some steps to ensure that he'd stay put until Sullivan or his men showed up.  Reaching in a pocket of his jacket, I found his cell phone.

 

I picked up the poker and waved it in his face.  "Ok, now tell me how to call Sullivan."  It didn't take much to coerce the answer out of him.  It was obvious, he really was a fuckin' coward.  Arndt scrolled to the phone number on his cell phone.

 

Tracing the land line phone cord, I disconnected both ends and tied his hands and feet behind his back, nice and secure, and then fastened him to a kitchen chair far from anything that he could use to free himself, should he tip the chair over to the floor and still remain conscious.  I gagged him—stuffed a dishcloth in his mouth, then I covered his mouth with a strip of duct tape from a roll that I'd found in one of the kitchen junk drawers.  

 

Once I'd dialed the number, Sullivan answered, and I told him that Arndt was home, there for the taking.

 

Sullivan, on the other hand, didn't know me from Adam.  He sounded skeptical.  He snarled as he asked, "And who the fuck are you anyway?  Where do you fit in to the situation?  What do you know about Arndt and his connection to me?  How do I know you have him where you say he is?"

 

"Ok, I'm sending you a photo via Arndt's cell phone.  I know you've been to his place, been in his house.  See...that's him right now, trussed up in the kitchen."

 

Peter began to actively twist in the chair, whimpering as he tried to get loose from the phone cord as he heard my side of the conversation.  I knew I was a cold-hearted bastard.

 

"You and your men can do whatever you want as far as I'm concerned.  You can finalize Arndt's affairs."  My grin didn't reach my eyes.

 

After a pause, Sullivan grunted and agreed that Arndt was ready for his team of enforcers.  They would deal with Peter.  Arndt's death would be used as a graphic example of the consequences of what would happen to any of Sullivan's "clients" if they tried to back out on repaying their loans.

 

"Yeah, I see what you mean."  Sullivan's low gravelly voice would have been chilling, but right then, I was more off the charts with cold rage than he was.  "Just make sure you clear the scene.  I don't want to see anyone but Arndt when I get there."  I agreed and disconnected the call.

 

I put the cell phone on the kitchen counter.  I cleaned up most of my prints and whatever DNA I might have left around the house.  It didn't matter to me how thorough a clean-up job I did.  I didn't fucking care.  Afterwards, I just left.  I ignored Arndt's muffled screams.  

 

I walked out the front door and got back in that stolen car across the street.  I felt my cold anger dissipating, vaporizing out of me.  The realization hit me like a shock that no matter how horrendously Sullivan dealt with Arndt—he could torture, kill and dismember Peter for all I cared—Jessica was gone.  Jess was gone forever.  And I had been too late to save her.

 

All of the energy left my body.  I felt so weighed down by guilt and grief, I couldn't even move my fingers to hotwire the car and drive it away before Sullivan arrived.  I sat there, mindlessly staring through the windshield.  Tears started to run down my face.  Finally.  It was hours after I had first learned the news of Jess's death.  I'd finally started to cry.  I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel and sobbed.  My chest ached as I finally faced the realization that I'd never see Jess again.

 

She had been the light at the end of the tunnel of my life after the CIA.  Right then, I was looking down another long, gloomy shaft, with only darkness and death at the end.  

 

Ultimately, I knew that Jess died because I'd left her that time at that airport in 2006.  And even before that, when September 11th happened, when we were in Mexico, and I chose to re-enlist with Special Forces.  All of those choices I'd made that culminated in this grim outcome—Jessica's death.  I knew I'd be carrying this guilt and grief with me for the rest of my life.

 

I realized that I had nowhere to go.

 

Without Jess, I had nowhere to be.  I had no idea who I was without her.  There was no one I wanted to be.  I'd pinned all of my hopes of a happy future life on finding her again.  Without her, I had nothing: no love, no future, no hope.  

  

I was irrelevant.  I was worthless.  I was nothing.

 

I had nothing more to do other than drive that stolen car and retrace the same route I'd come up, back down to New York.  

 

I realized that all that was left for me to do in tribute to Jess and my love for her was to find a fitting way to commit suicide.

 

My final plan was to drive back to New York City and make myself disappear.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements: Many Thanks!!
> 
> Lavon and Devon Seeley—my friends who have been to Mainland China and on the Z-9 express train from Beijing to Hong Kong. They also suggested Taiwan as a safe exit port for a container ship back to the United States. (Although Devon, who was a Marine, thought that John did too much swearing.) 
> 
> Daniel Cureton—a true native of Charleston, SC. He told me about 39 Rue de Jean and suggested that I have Reese land at the Charleston,SC Port which has grown into one of the largest shipping ports in the world!
> 
> Rebecca Haines—for information on the experiences of rape victims.
> 
> Charles F. Payne—for information on the Special Forces Rangers and the Vietnam War. 
> 
> Julia Cameron's book "The Artist's Way" which has a journal writing system that I used for my own healing.
> 
> Robert Moss and his books on the power of dreams—http://www.mossdreams.com/
> 
> * * * * * * *  
> And I actually DID know a Captain William Ross, who was a captain on the Weyerhaeuser lumber ships in the 1960s. I don't know if he is still alive (most likely not) and he was a good man.


End file.
